as you
are in them. And you may try their patience, as much as they try yours.
We know when we are hurt by others, but we do not always know when
others are hurt by us. And we can see the defects of others, when we
cannot see our own. And we should consider, that _they_ will know when
they are hurt by us, when they may not know that we are hurt by them;
and that _they_ will be able to see our imperfections, when they will be
quite unconscious of their own. And if we would not have them to make
too much of _our_ defects and blunders, we must not make too much of
_theirs_. If they can bear with _us_, we must learn to bear with _them_,
and think ourselves well off to have things settled so. If we could see
ourselves as God sees us, we might be more astonished that others should
be able to bear with us, than that we should be required to bear with
them.

And the trials we meet with in the Church will do us good, if we look at
them in a proper light, and receive them in a proper spirit. They will
reveal to us the defects of our brethren, and draw us to labor for their
improvement. And in laboring for the improvement of others, we shall
improve ourselves.

And the unpleasant friction which takes place between us and our
brethren, will only tend to smoothe the ruggedness of our temper, and
rub off the unevennesses of our character, provided we can keep
ourselves from impatience and resentment. In going along the course of a
brook or a river, you sometimes come upon a bend, where you find a heap
of smooth and nicely rounded pebble stones thrown up. Did you ever ask
yourselves how these pebbles came to be so round and smooth? When broken
off from their respective rocks, they were as irregular in form, they
had as sharp corners, and as rough, and ragged, and jagged edges, and
were altogether as ugly and unsightly things as any fragments of rocks
you ever looked upon. But they got into the water, and the stream rolled
them along, and rubbed them gently one against another, and this was the
way they came to be so round and smooth. There is no doubt, that if the
stones could have talked, and if they had had no more sense than we
have, whenever they found that their neighbor stones were rubbing them,
they would have screamed out, "Oh! how you scratch;" never dreaming that
they were scratching the other stones just as much at the same time. But
fortunately the stones could not talk; and though they had not so much
sense as we have,