October 6

WORDS are mighty, words are living;
Serpents with their venomous stings,
Or bright angels, crowding round us,
With Heaven’s light upon their wings;
Every word has its own spirit,
True or false that never dies;
Every word man’s lips have uttered
Echoes in God’s skies.
Adelaide A. Procter


THERE is a persecution sharper than that of the axe. There is an iron that goes into the heart deeper than the knife. Cruel sneers, and sarcasms, and pitiless judgments, and cold-hearted calumnies—these are persecution. There is the tyrant of the nursery, and the playground, and the domestic circle, as well as of the judgment-hall. “Better were it,” said the Redeemer, “for that man if a millstone had been hung about his neck.” Did you ever do that? Did you ever pour bitterness into a heart that God was training, by a cold laugh, or a sneer, or a galling suspicion?—Into a sister’s heart, or a friend’s, or even a stranger’s? Remember, when you sent them, as Job’s friends sent him, to pour out their griefs alone before their Father, your name went up to the Avenger’s ears, mingled with the cries of His own elect.
Frederick W. Robertson


HE will never truly repent the shadow he has cast on another’s life who has not first agonized over the blackness of His own.
R. W. Barbour

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July 6

JUDGE not; the workings of his brain
And of his heart thou canst not see;
What looks to thy dim eyes a stain,
In God’s pure light may only be
A scar, brought from some well-won field,
Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.
Adelaide A. Procter


WHEN, O when, shall we learn that loyalty to Christ is tested far more by the strength of our sympathy with Truth than by the intensity of our hatred of Error. I will tell you what to hate. Hate Hypocrisy—hate Cant—hate intolerance, oppression, injustice—hate Pharisaism—hate them as Christ hated them, with a deep, living, God-like hatred. But do not hate men in intellectual error. To hate a man for his errors is as unwise as to hate one who in casting up an account has made an error against himself.
Frederick W. Robertson


WHILE we are coldly discussing a man’s career, sneering at his mistakes, blaming his rashness, and labelling his opinions—“Evangelical and narrow,” or Latitudinarian and Pantheistic,” or “Anglican and supercilious”—that man, in his solitude, is perhaps shedding hot tears because his sacrifice is a hard one, because strength and patience are failing him to speak the difficult word, and do the difficult deed.
George Eliot