Spring Time of the Heart.
By H. W. Beecher
Nine parts out of ten of your griefs are cured the moment you accept with cheerfulness the lot which God has appointed you in this life. Nine hundred and ninety-nine parts out of a thousand of human trouble are only rebellion; and the moment a soul says "God, thy will be done," that moment its trouble is over, and the time of the singing of birds has come to it. . . . Some of God's most heroic soldiers are bedridden ones. Look at that sweet child of eighteen, full of aspiration and hope, to whom has been denied, not loving father, not loving mother, not sisters and more than anxious brothers, but health. She has made a weary fight for one year, for two years for three years, and at last she says, "If God has planted me to grow as a night-shade here; if I am to be a flower in the forest, that knows no sun; if it is here that God wants me to show patience and zeal, then I am content with my lot, I accept it, and I will ask and expect nothing more. Let this be my sphere of duty, and let my life be spent on the bed, the couch, the cot, if God wishes it. If sickness be. God's will, even so. His will be done, not mine." The time of the singing of birds has come to such a heart. To such a heart spring has come, and summer is not far off. Such I have seen.—H. W. Beecher.