Man is a curious animal. He seems to give forth² his finest product only when crushed. We expect him to “curse God and die,” and suddenly his face lights up with the heavenly vision.

 

We loathe³ poverty and fight disease and avoid wounds, tyranny, and oppression. Yet, somehow only when these come, do 6 the rarest flowers appear on the human bush.

 

I know a young man, twisted, crippled, paralyzed, unable to feed or dress himself, yet who sits daily by his window with a shining face. He is cheerful, helpful, a fountain of joy to all who know him. The boys love to gather in his room at night and play cards and tell stories. One would think he would be a gloom and a burden; he is an uplift. You soon forget his limitations. You soon cease to pity him, for he does not pity himself. He does not drain you; he inspires you.

 

In how many another family is the sickroom the shrine⁴ of the house. How many a stricken invalid⁵ woman is the resting-place for her worried husband, the delightful⁶ refuge for her children’s cares!

 

It is not the strong, wealthy, and powerful 7 that always gleam with optimism and radiate hope. Too often the house of luxury is the nest of bitterness, boredom⁷, and snarling⁸. Petulance⁹ waits on plenty. Luxury and cruelty are twins. Success brings hardness of heart.

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