Toward The Heights
When we go forth to do our work with gladness of heart, a higher power seems to lend us its beneficent aid. Work that is cheerfully done is usually well done. The mighty deeds wrought for humanity invariably have sprung from hearts inspired by gladness of life. To be grateful for opportunity to act, to work, to love, and to serve, is one of the supreme joys of earth.
“We are living now in eternity and the time to be glad is to-day. How often must we remind ourselves that heaven is within us and that cheerfulness is a habit of the soul? Phillips Brooks somewhere says that no man is content to live a half life when he knows of the higher half life that is his. To be truly glad of life we must come into conscious recognition of our rich inheritance. On every side there is so much to inspire gladness of life: the love of men, the beauties of nature, the sweetness of friendship, the joy of service. Every day is the dawn of golden opportunity and every night a purple benediction of rest and peace. We should go forward with blithesome heart song, happy in the consciousness of living here and now.
We are not to be glad of life simply because it gives us riches and houses and books and worldly possessions, but because it gives us the chance to love the true and beautiful and good everywhere. Because it enables us to develop all that is best in us and to raise ourselves to empyrean heights. Because it reveals the divinity within us and the glorious destiny just beyond.
Several years ago a successful man retired from business, wishing to live a life of ease and comfort. He entered society, and with little to do became a slave to drink. Gradually he grew more unhappy, until illness and discouragement took possession of him. One day he determined again to engage in business, and as a result he is to-day as well and happy as ever.
The worst misfortune that can befall a man in this world is enforced idleness. To have nothing to do, no set purpose, no ambition, is as dangerous as it is disintegrating. The record of many rich men’s sons living in luxury and ease is a startling testimony to the insidious power of indolence. The will to labor is a greater thing than genius. Perseverance and determination have been the distinguishing marks of all great men. Who can forget Carlyle’s heroic will to work when the accident befell his manuscript of the first volume of the “French Revolution”?
He had lent the precious document to a literary friend, John Stuart Mill, who left it lying carelessly in his room. ‘When he wished to return it Mill could not find it. It was then discovered that the maid, seeing it on the floor, had thrown it into the fire. Carlyle’s anguish can easily be conceived, for much of his valuable data had been cast aside or destroyed. “With iron courage he set diligently to work and reproduced the manuscript. He it was who said: “Blest is the man who has found his work.”
The work we aim to do is an index of our mind. When Leonardo chose the Last Supper for his theme he forthwith proclaimed the quality of his spirit. Not every one is born a genius, but if your work be good and right, what matter if it be great or small? It is the spirit in which we labor that determines the value of what we do. We may learn to sing with Mrs. Browning:
Beloved, let us love so well our work shall still be better for our love, and still our love be sweeter for our work!
The joy of work is enhanced by occasional periods of relaxation. Every man should have a “playtime” daily. It is well to let the mental and physical machinery down at frequent intervals in order that one may return to his labor rejuvenated. There is a world of philosophy in the saying, “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” A man who is merely a machine and money-grubber, who knows not how to play, misses much of the best in life. The railroad magnate who cuts his life in two through overwork, has failed to apply his business astuteness to the important matter of right living.
It is possible to take life too seriously and to blunt one’s abilities by too constant use of them. The worker, however earnest and ambitious, should not overlook the law of action and reaction which runs through all nature. The flow and ebb of the tide, the rise and fall of the fountain, the alternating of day and night, remind us of this principle of work and play that should characterize a man’s life.
It is easy to grovel. Men sometimes become so intent upon their work that they lose sight of the wonders all about them. The artist finds it necessary to stand off from his picture every little while in order that he may observe the proper effect of light and shade, of perspective and proportion. When a man turns his thoughts for a time entirely away from his regular work, he returns to it with renewed energy and clearness of vision.
It is an inspiration upon a clear night to stand and survey the stars as they seem to sing together. Here is music and mystery to satisfy the longing soul. There is no haste, no confusion, no discord, but a silent symphony of the skies. And the more intently we look the nearer they seem to come, until at length we appear to dwell among them. The lives of many men are like the wonderful stars, pouring down on us, as Phillips Brooks says, “the calm light of their bright and faithful being, up to which we look, and out of which we gather the deepest calm and courage.”
Men are often possessed by their possessions. A Turkish wrestler, sailing from America toward his home, turned all his money into gold, placed it in a belt, and wrapped it around him for safe-keeping. By some irony of fate, the ship was wrecked, and the weight of the gold carried him more swiftly to his watery grave. When a man’s possessions are a burden to him, he is not well off. Not how much, but how good and how useful, should be the criterion from which to judge what a man has.
What end does it serve always to be coveting the things that are not ours, while neglecting to use what we have? Is it not better to own a Bible and a Shakespeare that we have read than a whole library of books with uncut leaves? A few years ago a book called “The Simple Life” had an immense circulation. It struck a responsive chord in thousands of lives. Men were feeling the strain and the responsibility of over-accumulation, of too many of this world’s goods, and this appeal on behalf of simplicity profoundly impressed them.
The pursuit of money is still intense. Probably the most difficult and unsatisfactory way to obtain it is to aim at it directly. We know a successful man who seldom thinks of money. His theory is that by devoting his time and energies to good work the financial results will take care of themselves. For over ten years he has persistently followed this plan and not once has he been without an abundance. His joy in his work is incomparably greater than that of the man who is merely money mad. Happy is the man who has found out early in life that the accumulation of money for its own sake is not a worthy ambition.
If you have books, read them; if you have friendships, strengthen them; if you have money, use it intelligently; if you have time, spend it wisely; if you have talents, cultivate them. Men often achieve greatness through turning small things to great account. “Not failure, but low-aim, is crime,” says Lowell.
When a distinguished musician was complimented upon his apparently natural genius, he replied: “Ah, but you do not know with what difficulty this ease has been acquired.” Sir Joshua Eeynolds was asked how long it had taken him to paint a certain picture. “All my life,” he answered. The man who makes the best of his talent is constantly building reserve power. Such a man was Webster. In the great debate with Hayne, when he was suddenly thrown upon his own resources, he incorporated into his speech material that was prepared long before and had been reposing in his desk. Modesty does not mean weakness and self-effacement. It is one of the supreme qualities of manhood.
It dislikes sham and pretense. It is an enemy to all that is unreal. It quickly recognizes truth and sincerity, but is quick to condemn the mean and false. Montaigne said: “The only thing I fear, is fear.” The courageous man is at a premium, but the wibbly-wobbly person has always been and ever ill be in disfavor. The world awards its prizes to men of firmness and self-reliance. Fear has forged more chains for men than iron links have ever done. To see the best side of life is more a matter of habit than of heredity.
A man has a sense of personal uplift when he shows sincere appreciation toward others. Like mercy, “it blesseth him that gives, and him that receives.” A man’s world is governed by his likes and dislikes, and what he looks for that he invariably finds. We should be eager to possess the great qualities of mind and heart that lift some men above the common crowd. And if we think as we should of our friends, we shall have no time for bitterness toward our foes.
Some one who knows has said that if you would have a friend, be one. Thoreau describes friendship as a plant so delicate that the least unworthiness vitiates it. It is a commingling of sympathy and unselfishness. When Charles Kingsley was asked the secret of his beautiful life he answered: “I had a friend.” A great friendship is a priceless possession, and lucky is the man who can claim more than one. Schiller says:
If thou hast something, bring thy goods! A fair return be thine! If thou art something, bring thy soul and interchange with mine!
I remember as a boy the burning of the Grand Opera House in Toronto, Canada. After witnessing a Shakespearian performance, the audience had dispersed to their homes, when at midnight a cry went through the city “Fire! Fire! The Opera House is on fire!” Thousands of people gathered to see the brilliant spectacle. Suddenly the flames burst out afresh, driving the firemen back, and at that moment there appeared at a small window close to the roof two men, and a woman with a babe clasped in her arms. What should they do?
No ladder in those days could reach such a height. Below was nothing but a frail wood-shed on which they would be dashed to pieces were they to jump. The great crowd stood dumb and helpless as they watched the blanched and terror-stricken faces in that little window. The flames had now reached so close to them that soon they must jump or perish. There was a moment of breathless anxiety, when men, woman and child fell back from view.
Then suddenly a sheet was thrown from the window, and a man followed clinging to it desperately as he fell to the ground. He was carried to the hospital with body bruised and broken, but afterward miraculously recovered. When asked to give an account of his experience, he said he had tried to induce his companions, the janitor and his wife, to jump from the window with him, but they could not bring themselves to do it. He felt, as they did, unable to jump out into open space. He thought he must have something to cling to. Then it occurred to him to throw out the sheet which saved his life.
To every man there comes at some time a strong religious intuition that he is dependent upon some higher power, that he must have something to which he can cling. For two thousand years men have been telling others that there is no one to whom they can cling so well as to Christ. Dr. Van Dyke does not say “Think once in a while of Christ,” but counsel’s men to “think of him every day.” No better substitute has ever yet been found, nothing comparable to Him ever will be.
This is the new day of healthful living. A man is no longer content to shut body and soul within four walls. He must have air and sunshine; he must hear the birds, and inhale the perfume of bud and flower. So every man may through gladness, love, work and play, move steadily toward the heights, inspired by courage, kindness and gentleness of heart, thinking every day of the Master, until at last he comes to his own, where all is joy and peace.