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There is a great host of weary men and women, toiling on through life, toward the grave, who most sorely need, just now, the cheering words and helpful ministries which we can give. The incense is gathering to scatter about their coffins; but why should it not be scattered in the hard paths on which their feet today are treading? The kind words are lying in men’s hearts unexpressed, trembling on their tongues unvoiced, which will be spoken by and by, when these weary ones are sleeping; but why should they not be spoken now, when they are needed so much, and when their accents would give such cheer and hope? The flowers are growing to strew on their graves; but why not cut them now to brighten dreary lives and dark paths.
Many a good man goes through life, plain, plodding, living obscurely yet living a true, Christian life, doing many a quiet kindness to his neighbours and friends, yet selfdom hearing a word of commendation or praise. The vases, filled with the incense of affection, are kept sealed. The flowers are not cut from the stems. One day you stand by his coffin, and there are enough kind things said to have brightened every hours of his life, if only they had been said at the right time. There are enough flowers piled upon his casket to have kept his chamber filled with fragrance all through his years, if only they had been sent day by day. How his heavy heart would have thanked God, if, in the midst of his toils, burdens, and struggles, he could have heard a few of the words of affection and approval that are now wasted on ears that hear them not! How much happier he would have been in his weary days if he had known how many generous friends he had! But, poor man! He had to die before the appreciation could express itself. Then the gentle words spoken over his cold form he could not hear. The love blossomed out too late.