to our
sorrowful hearts? Thirty years ago I was thrown helpless, penniless,
and friendless upon these assurances of God; and in thirty years He
has never broken a promise. He is a God that keepeth both mercy and
truth. I believe in His goodness. I trust in His care. I would not, by
worrying, tell Him to His face that He either has not the power or the
good-will to help and comfort me.

Worriers live under a very low sky. They allow nothing for probabilities
and "Godsends." They suffer nothing to go by faith. All times and all
places supply them with material. In summer, it is the heat and the
dogs and the hydrophobia. In winter, it is the cold, and the price of
coal. They take all the light and comfort out of home pleasures;
and abroad their complaints are endless. Yet to argue with worriers
is of little use; convince them at every point, and the next moment
they return to their old aggravating, vaporing _credo_.

What remains for them then? They must pray to God, and help
themselves. Egotism and selfishness are at the bottom of all worrying.
If they will just remember that there is no reason why they should be
exempted from the common trials of humanity, they may step at once on
to higher ground; for even worrying is humanized, when it is no longer
purely selfish and personal.

It is usually idle people who worry. Men and women whose every hour is
full of earnest business do not try to put two hours' care and thought
into one. Even a positive injury or injustice drops easily from an
honestly busy man. He has not time to keep a catalogue of his wrongs,
and worry about them. He simply casts his care upon Him who has
promised to care for him--for his health, and wealth, and happiness,
and good name; for all the events of his life, and for all the hopes
of his future.

Worriers would not like to see written down all the doubtful things
they have said of God, and all the ill-natured things they have said
of men; besides, they might consider that they are often righteously
worried, and only suffering the due reward of some folly of their own.
Would it not be better to ask God to put right what they have put
wrong; to lay hold of all that is good in the present; to refuse to
look forward to any possible change for the worse? I know a good man
who, when he feels inclined to worry over events, takes a piece of
paper and writes his fears down, and so faces "the squadron of his
doubts,"--finding generally that they vanish a