"Life is real,
Life is earnest."
And it has an end; and it will be a poor end for her or for him who
starts by saying, "It's no matter!"
There was a fellow once did that in a great Rugby game. He failed, and
the team lost the match and the trophy.
A slip may seem small, but we can slip and fail, and do slovenly work
once too often--and lose the game of life!
It does matter! It matters to God! It matters to you, and it matters
to all who love you!
*III*
*"I DON'T CARE"*
That is one of the worst of all foxes, with a very sharp tooth.
A horse lost a shoe once, and the owner did not care. And some one
wrote this verse--
"For want of a shoe a horse was lost,
For want of a horse a rider was lost,
For want of a rider a battle was lost,
And all for want of a shoe."
When I was a student at Toronto University, there took place one
February night the great fire that became a college date, and
practically helped to end the life of President Sir Daniel Wilson, who
saw the building of his life labour go up in smoke.
It was the great social night of the college year. There were no
electric lights in those days, and lamps were used. The building was
gaily decorated with evergreens and bunting.
A college servant came down the east stair with a tray of lamps, and
making a careless step, he stumbled, and the blazing oil started a fire,
which, fanned by the air pouring down the great windows, soon destroyed
the great building. It all came from a careless step.
Just think of a tailor who goes around with his pants legs down over his
heels and the edges all frayed, and a pair of dirty cuffs down over his
wrists--what a poor advertisement for his trade and all because he does
not care.
And you have a trade, too! Your business is to show every other girl
and boy what a girl and boy ought to be; and if you don't care, then you
can't show them anything except what they should not be. They should
not be like you.
Or think of a girl or boy who is always making a mess of things.
They fail in school, and they grieve their parents, and they are no use
to anybody. They get into trouble, and they get others into trouble.
They miss the mark and are getting nowhere; and worse than all, they
blind their eyes and close their ears. They simply do not care!
A young fellow once went mountain climbing; and I think he thought he
was pretty sure-footed. Anyhow, he would take no advice as to dangerous
places or how to watch his step, and one careless moment he stepped into
a great crack in the ice called a crevasse, and it was twenty years
before they found his body, after the slowly moving glacier brought it
down to the place where the warmer regions broke off the edges of the
ice!
And life has a lot of danger spots too; and it needs care in the step,
and to say you don't care may land you sometime in disaster.
In fact, if that spirit stays, I do not see how any one can escape
disaster.
"I don't care!"--What does that mean?
It means you would just as soon be bad as good!
It means you would just as soon see things go wrong as right!
It means you would just as soon see things go down as up!
You think it makes no difference. But it does!
It means you shut your eyes and let things go!
Some great preacher tells of the wonders of the eyelids. They act so
quickly and they can shut out so much if closed;--all the glory of the
heavens; the wonders of the mountains and sea; the books of a library;
the great world of people;--all shut out by closing the eyes!
You can shut your eyes if you like--and when you say, "I don't care!"
that is what you do. You shut your eyes.
If you keep them shut long enough, you will go blind!
You don't want to be blind, do you? Then do not say, "I don't care!"
Instead of that, Care.
Be careful--full of care!
*IV*
*TEMPER*
Temper is a fine thing to have.
A horse without any temper nobody wants. A man without temper is no
good.
Temper is a word worth study. It comes from a root that means to
control and not let get away and run wild. It means to mix up in the
right way so that there will not be too much of anything.
And so temper means to give a good form to, by having just enough of
what makes that form.
And perhaps because heat is used to mould things and helps in mixing,
temper sometimes means heat; and when that heat gets inside us it warms
us. And that inside heat is good. A cold heart or mind will not do
anything.
Temper is not bad.
We get a lot of good words from temper; like temperament--what your
character is like; and temperature--the amount of heat in the air; and
temperance--the amount of self-control you have.
Unfortunately, the heat gets often too hot. And then we are people of
bad temper. And if you get too much of that, it leads to very serious
trouble.
I went once to the gallows with a splendid-looking boy who did not mix
things right, and got so much temper that he became a murderer!
Bad temper means lost control. To keep your temper is like riding a
high mettled horse.--You have to keep firm hold of the bit.
When the present King George was Duke of York, he came to Western
Canada, where I was a young minister. The people of Winnipeg gave him a
great reception. The streets were lined, and flags and bunting made gay
the city.
It was interesting to see the man who was to become the head later of
the greatest empire in history. But I must confess there was a part of
the procession that interested me more than even the Prince did.
It was his equerry.--The man who rode by his side on horseback. It was
a wonderful sight. He was on the back of a magnificent black charger,
with glossy flanks, and flowing mane and tail, and arching neck and
prancing feet. Powerfully built, it seemed the ambition of the horse to
hurl the driver from his back. The noise of the cheering and the bands
added to his restlessness. He curved to this side and that; stood up on
his hind legs; tossed his head between his feet; danced and careered
around until you would wonder how anybody could stay on his back.
But that rider was a great horseman. He sat there as though he were
part of the horse. With a firm hand and soothing voice, and a grip that
kept the bit solid in the mouth of his prancing charger, he danced up
the street a splendid sight.
And I thought, what a fine illustration of a strong life he was.
The man who can sit on his fiery temper, and hold it in control.
The Bible says: "He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and
he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city."
I suppose every boy here would envy Foch as he swept back the tide and
took trench after trench until he broke the Hindenburg line.
But when you hold the bridle firm on your temper you can be greater than
Foch.
Only those who have been West have ever seen a "stampede" where the
cowboys undertake to break a wild broncho, or to ride on the back of an
untamed steer.
I saw one once at Calgary, where a plunging broncho brought his four
feet together, and bucked his back, and lowered his head, and the cowboy
was hardly on his back till he was off again, and the broncho wildly
galloping down the dusty prairie.
But it was a thrilling sight when, without even reins, just one little
piece of rope, the skillful fellow, with his knees dug deep into the
broncho's side, mastered him, and came galloping up the track in
triumph.
And it is just as fine a sight to see a girl or boy who can use this
wonderful gift of temper, and never let it use them--who masters it and
are never mastered by it.
Watch your temper, girls and boys. If it is kept under control it is a
splendid gift. If it is not, it may ruin you!
*V*
*SELFISHNESS*
My, that is a nasty little fox! If it gets into your garden it will
spoil it, sure as guns!
Not that you and I are to have no selves. That kind of a person is an
empty, silly, shallow body. You want the biggest self you can get. And
you need to care for yourself. For if you do not, you will have no self
with which to care for any one else.
And you need a true self-love, for if you stop truly loving yourself,
you will soon have nothing with which to love any one else.
But selfishness means you cannot see anybody else but yourself.
Selfishness means putting yourself in the centre and expecting everybody
and everything to dance to your music.
A little boy said to his sister, "Mary, there would be more room for me
on this sofa if one of us were to get off!"
Was he not a selfish boy? Who would want to have that kind of child
around--that expects the whole house to get out of his way so he could
blow himself?
Some one tells a story of the sweetness of the unselfish life of a
little ragged bootblack, who sold his kit to get a quarter to pay for a
notice in the paper of the death of his little brother. When the kind
newspaper man asked if it was his little brother, with a quivering chin
he said, "I had to sell my kit to do it, b-but he had his arms aroun' my
neck when he d-died!"
The news went round and that same day at evening, he found his kit on
the doorstep, with a bunch of flowers bought with pennies by his chums,
who were touched by his unselfish act.
There is something very attractive about a girl or boy who thinks of
others and forgets self.
I have read of the wonderful St. Bernard dogs in the mountains of
Switzerland.
There is a house called a hospice, 8,000 feet above sea level, where the
monks live who keep the dogs to watch for lost travellers who may perish
in the snow.
The dogs have baskets strapped on their backs, which contain food for
lost men. They are trained so that they will find people and guide them
to the place of safety.
The story that interested me was of an Englishman who wanted to see the
dogs at work.
The monks told him that the best dog had been out for some time and they
were becoming worried over his absence.
In a few moments, in the dog came, looking completely discouraged. He
seemed to have no spirit, although all his companions were barking and
jumping around him. The old dog paid no attention, but went and lay
down in a sort of hopeless way, without even wagging his tail--like all
good dogs do that are pleased with themselves.
The explanation of the monks made me think.
They told the Englishman that that was the way the dog always acted
whenever he had failed to help any traveller.
Just think, girls and boys, of the instinct of a well-trained dog--so
deeply set on helping, that failure, even when he was not to blame for
it, made him ashamed and sad!
Surely we will at least be equal to a trained St. Bernard.
Surely we should far surpass him, by voluntarily, of our own loving
choice, seeking to help in a life of shining unselfishness.
I do not know any one who should be better able than a girl or boy to
put into their lives the spirit of this little poem, whose author I do
not know, but which I give to you: