But no man knows where
his neighbor's prison lies. How bravely and cheerily most eyes look up!
This is one of the sweetest mercies of life, that "the heart knoweth its
own bitterness," and, knowing it, can hide it. Hence, we can all be
friends for other prisoners, standing separated from them by the
impassable iron gratings and the fixed gulf of space, which are not
inappropriate emblems of the unseen barriers between all human souls. We
can show kindly faces, speak kindly words, bear to them fruits and food,
and moral help, greater than fruit or food. We need not aim at
philanthropies; we need not have a visiting-day, nor seek a prison-house
built of stone. On every road each man we meet is a prisoner; he is dying
at heart, however sound he looks; he is only waiting, however well he
works. If we stop to ask whether he be our brother, he is gone. Our one
smile would have lit up his prison-day. Alas for us if we smiled not as we
passed by! Alas for us if, face to face, at last, with our Elder Brother,
we find ourselves saying, "Lord, when saw we thee sick and in prison!"
A Companion for the Winter.
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