THE SOUL OF SORROW

Sorrow is not always gruesome and heart-breaking. It has a lifetime

influence, providing the fiber of the soul is strong enough to withstand

the strain. Not long ago there was a musical contest in a Pennsylvania

city, and one of the young ladies to take part in it had given up the

thought of going into the contest, because her mother lay at the point of

death the day previous to the departure of the companies who were going

to the distant city to show what their town could do in a musical way.

But during the night the mother’s condition changed for the better, and

she urged her daughter to go; for on her the town depended to bring back

some of the prizes to be given to the sweetest singers of the state.

And so she went, her heart very much lighter since the happy change in

her mother’s condition. Anyhow, going out into the world to compete for

a prize, with some hope of winning, has a buoyant effect on the heart.

Oh, if all the world could but feel a slight hope of winning a prize

when starting out in the world, how much happier the world would be!

But to most of the average people the world’s prizes are hanging up so

distressingly high that only the well prepared have any chance of winning

them.

The parents who carelessly or helplessly send their children out into the

world uneducated, to compete with college graduates, are sending them

into a hard proposition. And the state government that will sleep while

one portion of the people are being educated to take care of themselves,

and a larger number are growing up in helpless ignorance and sent out

into the world to compete with the few educated ones—the state or public

that can sleep while such an injustice is being perpetrated on the

weakest and most helpless of its subjects, needs to have its conscience

touched with the awakening finger of justice. The boasting cry that

in this country everybody’s child has an equal opportunity to gain a

livelihood, is as false as hell. There are colleges in our so-called free

land where the son of a ditch digger or a washerwoman could no more enter

than a miserly rich man can enter the kingdom of heaven.

But I have drifted. I can’t help but drift. Every time I try to paint

a picture, the injustice of the unjust crowd in and fill the distant

perspective, and get painted into the sunset and change the gold into

blackened lead.

Just one hour before the young lady was to go on the stage to sing her

solo, a dispatch brought the sad and shocking news that her mother was

dead. Nobody who knew of the sad news thought for a moment that the

bereaved and heartbroken girl would attempt to sing. They were all

disappointed, of course, but who could ask her to go on the stage with a

sorrow as deep as hers? But she did not break down. Oh, she had been so

confident of winning the prize, and her town’s people would be so greatly

disappointed if she failed!

She told the manager she would try, providing he would tell the audience

of her great sorrow. She wanted the sympathy of the people—it would give

her strength, while it would give them patience and tolerance.

After the manager had gone before the footlights and told the sad story

the people waited in silence for the young singer to appear. There was

no applause. The people felt the presence of death, or sorrow and heart

aches. The accompanist struck the first note and the brave girl commenced

to sing. The song was suitable for a sad heart to sing. She could sing

her sorrow from the depths of her soul.

The crowded house sat spellbound. That song from her soul of sorrow

thrilled every heart as it had never been thrilled before. The notes,

clear and sweet, came laden with the tears her brave soul was holding

back. The people sat in deep silence, but with beating and throbbing

hearts and active minds. They pictured the dead mother in that distant

town, sleeping silence—ah, never again, never to awaken to greet her

daughter on her return.

And the singer pictured that angeled mother listening from that far off

shore, and she sang to her while the audience listened. For as much as a

minute the people sat in silence after the singer had left the stage, and

then the cheers and tears told of the prize she had won.

The philosophy of Jake Haiden (late Jacob K. Huff) · 第 21 / 84 题