; they love to see their human kindred light
of heart; but they cannot be light-hearted in turn; for the burden and
mystery of the world are ever with them, and their energy is all
needed to help them in conquering pettiness of soul, so that by no
weak example may they dishearten those who are weak. I am almost
convinced that the man who composed the inscription on the emerald
which is said to have reached Tiberius must have seen the Founder of
our religion--or, at least, must have known some one who had seen Him.
"None hath seen Him smile; but many have seen Him weep." It is so like
what we should have expected! The days of the joyous pagan gods were
passing away, the shadows of tedium and of life-weariness were
drooping over a world that was once filled with thoughtless
merriment--and then came One who preached the Gospel of Sorrow. He
preached that gospel, and a faithless world at first refused to hear
Him; but the Divine depth of sorrow drew the highest of souls; and
soon the world left the religion of pride and vainglory and pleasure
to embrace the religion of Pity.

The sorrow of the weary King Ecclesiast has never seemed to me
altogether noble; it is piercing in its insight--and I understand how
youths who are coming to manhood find in the awful chapters a savage
contrast to the joys of existence. Young men who have reached the
strange time of discontent through which all of us pass are always
profoundly affected by the Preacher; and they are too apt to pervert
the most poignant of his words; but men who have really thought and
suffered can never help feeling that there is a species of ingratitude
in all his splendid lamentations. Why should the mighty king have
bidden the youth to rejoice after so many awful words had been penned
to show the end of all rejoicing? Every pleasure on earth the king had
enjoyed, and he had drained life's chalice so far down that he tasted
the bitterness of the lees. But had he not savoured joy to the full?
Was there one gift showered by the lavish bounty of God which had not
fallen on the chosen of fortune? We revere the intellect of the man
who chastens our souls with his sombre discourse; but I could wish he
had veiled his despair, and had told us of the ravishing delights
which he had known. No; the Preacher is great, but his sorrow is not
the highest. I give my chief reverence to the men who let their sorrow
pass into central fire that blazes into deeds; I revere the men and
wo