A passionate woman's happiness

Mrs. More has some remarks on this subject, which I deem too valuable to be omitted: 'Meekness is imperfect if it is not both active and passive; if it will not enable us to subdue our own passions and resentments, as well as qualify us to bear patiently the passions and resentments of others. A meek spirit will not look out of itself for happiness, because it finds a constant banquet at home; yet by a sort of divine alchemy it will convert all external events to its own profit, and be able to deduce some good, even from the most unpromising: it will extract comfort and satisfaction from the most barren circumstances; it will suck honey out of the rock, and oil out of the flinty rock.'

It will not be difficult to distinguish true from artificial meekness. The former is universal and habitual; the latter is local and temporary. Every young female may keep this rule by her, to enable her to form a just judgment of her own temper; if she is not as gentle to her chambermaid as she is to her visitor—she may rest satisfied that the spirit of gentleness is not in her. Who would not be shocked and disappointed to behold a well-bred young lady, soft and engaging as the doves of Venus, displaying a thousand graces and attractions to win the hearts of a large company; and the instant they are gone, to see her look mad as enraged tiger, and all the frightened graces driven from her furious countenance, only because her gown was brought home a quarter of an hour later than she expected, or her ribbon sent half a shade lighter or darker than she ordered?
A very overbearing woman, if she happens also to be a very artful one, will be conscious she has so much to conceal, that the dread of betraying her real temper will make her put on an over-acted softness, which, from its very excess, may be distinguished from the natural by a penetrating eye.

'A passionate woman's happiness is never in her own keeping: it is the sport and the slave of events. It is in the power of her acquaintances, her servants, but chiefly of her enemies—and all her comforts lie at the mercy of others. So far from being willing to learn of Him who was meek and lowly, she considers meekness and lowliness—as a despicable and vulgar baseness. And an imperious woman will so little covet the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, that it is almost the only ornament she will not be solicitous to wear.

from - A Treatise on Temper—its Use and Abuse

Thoughtlessness

A little bit of hatred can spoil a score of years
And blur the eyes that ought to smile with many needless tears.

A little bit of thoughtlessness and anger for a day
Can rob a home of all its joy and drive delight away.

A little bit of shouting in a sharp and vicious tone
Can leave a sting that will be felt when many years have flown.

And just one hasty moment of ill temper can offend
And leave an inner injury the years may never mend.


It takes no mental fiber to say harsh and bitter things;
It doesn't call for courage to employ a lash that stings.

And cruel words and bitter any fool can think to say,
But the hurt they leave behind them takes years to wipe away.

Just a little bit of hatred robs a home of all delight,
And leaves a winding trail of wrong that time may never right.

For only those are happy and keep their peace of mind,
Who guard themselves from hatred and words that are unkind!

Edgar A Guest

What have We Done Today?

We shall do much in the years to come,
But what have we done today?
We shall give our gold in a princely sum,
But what did we give today?
We shall lift the heart and dry the tear,
We shall plant a hope in the place of fear,
We shall speak the words of love and cheer,
But what did we speak today?

We shall be so kind in the after while,
But have we been today?
We shall bring to each lonely life a smile,
But what have we brought today?
We shall give to truth a grander birth,
And to steadfast faith a deeper worth,
We shall feed the hungering souls of earth,
But whom have we fed today?

We shall reap such joys in the by and by,
But what have we sown today?
We shall build us mansions in the sky,
But what have we built today?
‘Tis sweet in the idle dreams to bask;
But here and now, do we our task?
Yet, this is the thing our souls must ask,
What have we done today?

- Nixon Waterman

Self-Control quotes

He who controls others may be powerful but he who has mastered himself is mightier still. -- Lao Tsu

He who reigns within himself, and rules passions, desires, and fears, is more than a king. -- John Milton

“He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.” Proverbs. 16:32


'The tempers and lives of men are books for common people to read—and they will read them, though they should read nothing else!'
- Andrew Fuller quoted in A Treatise on Temper—its Use and Abuse



“Self-control is one of the finest things in any life….

A man has self-control when he sits in his place and has his hands on all the reins of his life. His is kingly when he has complete master of his temper, his speech, his feelings, his appetites; when he can be quiet under injury and wrong; hurt to the quick but showing no sign, patient and still under severe provocation; when he can stand amid temptations and not yield to them….

Not only is self-control strong — it is also beautiful. Anger is not beautiful. Ungoverned temper is not lovely. Rage is demonic. But a spirit calm, strong, and unflustered, amid storms of feeling and all manner of disturbing emotions, is sublime in its beauty. ‘A temper under control, a heart subdued into tenderness and patience, a voice cheerful with hope, and a countenance bright with kindness, are invaluable possessions to any man or woman.’

The beauty of self-control! It is always beautiful, and the lack of it is always a blemish. A lovely face which has won us by its grace instantly loses its charm and winsomeness when in some excitement bad temper breaks out. An angry countenance is disfiguring….It should be practiced not only on great occasions but on the smallest. A hundred times a day it will save us from weakness and fluster and make us strong a quiet. It is the outcome of peace. If the heart is still and quiet with the peace of Christ, the whole life is under heavenly guard. The king is on his throne and there is no misrule anywhere.

How can we get the mastery over ourselves? It is not attained by a mere resolve. We cannot simply assert our self-mastery, and then have it. We cannot put self-control on the throne, by a mere proclamation. It is an achievement which must be won by ourselves, and won by degrees. It is a lesson which must be learned, a long lesson which it takes many days to learn. ...

We need divine help in learning the lesson. Yet we must be diligent in doing our part. God helps those who help themselves. When we strive to be calm and self-controlled he puts his own strength into our heart. ...

But however long it may take us to reach this heavenly achievement we should never be content until we have reached it. This is the sum of all learning and experience. It is the completeness of all spiritual culture. …”

J. R. Miller in The Beauty of Self-control

The Church walking with the World

The Church and the World walked far apart,
On the changing shore of time;
The World was singing a giddy song,
And the Church a hymn sublime.
"Come, give me your hand," cried the merry World,
"And walk with me this way;"
But the good Church hid her snowy hands,
And solemnly answered, "Nay,
I will not give you my hand at all,
And I will not walk with you,
Your way is the way to endless death;
Your words are all untrue."

"Nay, walk with me but a little space,"
Said the World, with a kindly air;
"The road I walk is a pleasant road,
And the sun shines always there;
Your path is thorny and rough and rude,
And mine is broad and plain;
My road is paved with flowers and dews,
And yours with tears and pain;
The sky above me is always blue;
No want, no toil, I know:
The sky above you is always dark;
Your lot is a lot of woe;
My path, you see, is a broad, fair one,
And my gate is high and wide;
There is room enough for you and for me
To travel side by side."

Half shyly the Church approached the World
And gave him her hand of snow;
The old World grasped it and walked along,
Saying in accents low,
"Your dress is too simple to please my taste;
I will give you pearls to wear,
Rich velvets and silks for your graceful form,
And diamonds to deck your hair."
The Church looked down at her plain white robes,
And then at the dazzling World,
And blushed as she saw his handsome lip
With a smile contemptuous curled.
"I will change my dress for a costlier one,"
Said the Church, with a smile of grace;
Then her pure white garments drifted away,
And the World gave in their place
Beautiful satins and shining silks,
And roses and gems and pearls;
And over her forehead her bright hair fell,
Crisped in a thousand curls.

"Your house is too plain," said the proud old World;
"I'll build you one like mine;
Carpets of Brussels and curtains of lace,
And furniture ever so fine."
So he builds her a costly and beautiful house;
Splendid it was to behold;
Her sons and her beautiful daughters dwelt there,
Gleaming in purple and gold;
And fairs and shows in the halls were held,
And the World and his children were there,
And laughter and music and feasts were heard
In the place that was meant for prayer.
She had cushioned pews for the rich and great,
To sit in their pomp and pride;
While the poor folks, clad in their shabby suits,
Sat meekly down outside.

The angel of Mercy flew over the Church,
And whispered, "I know thy sin;"
Then the Church looked back with a sigh, and longed
To gather her children in.
But some were off at the midnight ball,
And some were off at the play,
And some were drinking in gay saloons;
So she quietly went her way.
Then the sly World gallantly said to her,
"Your children mean no harm,
Merely indulging in innocent sports;"
So she leaned on his proffered arm.
And smiled and chatted, and gathered flowers,
As she walked along with the World;
While millions and millions of deathless souls
To the horrible gulf were hurl'd.

"Your preachers are all too old and plain,"
Said the gay World with a sneer;
"They frighten my children with dreadful tales,
Which I like not for them to hear;
They talk of brimstone and fire and pain,
And the horrors of endless night:
They talk of a place that should not be
Mentioned to ears polite.
I will send you some of the better stamp,
Brilliant and gay and fast,
Who will tell them that people may live as they list,
And go to heaven at last.
The Father is merciful, great and good,
Tender and true and kind;
Do you think he would take one child to heaven,
And leave the rest behind?"
So he filled her house with gay divines,
Gifted and great and learned;
And the plain old men that preached the cross
Were out of her pulpits turned.

"You give too much to the poor," said the World,
"Far more than you ought to do;
If the poor need shelter and food and clothes,
Why need it trouble you?
Go take your money and buy rich robes,
And horses and carriages fine,
And pearls and jewels and dainty food,
And the rarest and costliest wine;
My children, they dote on all such things,
And if you their love would win,
You must do as they do: and walk in the ways
That they are walking in."
Then the Church held tightly the strings of her purse,
And gracefully lowered her head,
And whispered, "I've given too much away;
I'll do, sir, as you have said."
So the poor were turned from her door in scorn,
And she heard not the orphan's cry;
And she drew her beautiful robes aside,
As the widows went weeping by;
And the sons of the World and the sons of the Church
Walked closely hand and heart,
And only the Master who knoweth all
Could tell the two apart.

Then the Church sat down at her ease, and said,
"I am rich, and in goods increased;
I have need of nothing, and naught to do
But to laugh and dance and feast;"
And the sly World heard her and laughed in his sleeve,
And mockingly said aside,
"The Church is fallen, the beautiful Church,
And her shame is her boast and pride.
The angel drew near to the mercy-seat,
And whispered in sighs her name,
And the saints their anthems of rapture hushed,
And covered their heads with shame;
And a voice came down through the hush of heaven
From Him who sat on the throne,
"I know thy work, and how thou hast said,
'I am rich,' and hast not known
That thou art naked, poor and blind,
And wretched before my face;
Therefore, from my presence I cast thee out,
And blot thy name from its place."

This poem is sometimes listed as “Author unknown” and is sometimes listed by a couple of different authors. It is most attributed to Matilda C. Edwards which seems to be the original author. There are several versions of this poem as modern people have changed or added wording in places to meet present conditions. It is tempting to add some versus to suit the more prevailing needs of the day, but I have tried to find the most correct and original version of this poem. The above poem was printed some time before 1875 in the Baltimore Christian Advocate.

A degree that staggers human nature

Matthew 5:43, 44. "It hath been said, Thou shalt love your neighbor and hate your enemy. But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who despitefully use you and persecute you." This text confirms what I before remarked, that the exercise of bad tempers is an infraction of the divine law. But the love of our neighbor is here carried to a degree that staggers human nature, and to which no religion beside the Christian ever inculcated. To love those who love us and do us good, seems natural and reasonable enough; and Jesus says that even the heathen do this. But to love those who heartily hate us, and speak all manner of evil things against us, and would willingly do us any mischief—I say, to love these, and to do them kindly services, to pray heartily for their welfare, and to bless them in the name of the Lord—is indeed the perfection of virtue—it is God-like!

- A Treatise on Temper—its Use and Abuse

If This Were All

If this were all of life we'll know,
If this brief space of breath
Were all there is to human toil,
If death were really death,
And never should the soul arise
A finer world to see,
How foolish would our struggles seem,
How grim the earth would be!

If living were the whole of life,
To end in seventy years,
How pitiful its joys would seem!
How idle all its tears!
There'd be no faith to keep us true,
No hope to keep us strong,
And only fools would cherish dreams--
No smile would last for long.

How purposeless the strife would be
If there were nothing more,
If there were not a plan to serve,
An end to struggle for!
No reason for a mortal's birth
Except to have him die--
How silly all the goals would seem
For which men bravely try.

There must be something after death;
Behind the toil of man
There must exist a God divine
Who's working out a plan;
And this brief journey that we know
As life must really be
The gateway to a finer world
That some day we shall see.

- Edgar Guest