her than he is, except more what God made him
for, which is indeed the highest willing of the will of God. His
brother's wellbeing is essential to his bliss. The thought of standing
higher in the favour of God than his brother, would make him miserable.
He would lift every brother to the embrace of the Father. Blessed are
the poor in spirit, for they are of the same spirit as God, and of
nature the kingdom of heaven is theirs.

'Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth,' expresses the
same principle: the same law holds in the earth as in the kingdom of
heaven. How should it be otherwise? Has the creator of the ends of the
earth ceased to rule it after his fashion, because his rebellious
children have so long, to their own hurt, vainly endeavoured to rule it
after theirs? The kingdom of heaven belongs to the poor; the meek shall
inherit the earth. The earth as God sees it, as those to whom the
kingdom of heaven belongs also see it, is good, all good, very good, fit
for the meek to inherit; and one day they shall inherit it--not indeed
as men of the world count inheritance, but as the maker and owner of the
world has from the first counted it. So different are the two ways of
inheriting, that one of the meek may be heartily enjoying his
possession, while one of the proud is selfishly walling him out from the
spot in it he loves best.

The meek are those that do not assert themselves, do not defend
themselves, never dream of avenging themselves, or of returning aught
but good for evil. They do not imagine it their business to take care of
themselves. The meek man may indeed take much thought, but it will not
be for himself. He never builds an exclusive wall, shuts any honest
neighbour out. He will not always serve the wish, but always the good of
his neighbour. His service must be true service. Self shall be no umpire
in affair of his. Man's consciousness of himself is but a shadow: the
meek man's self always vanishes in the light of a real presence. His
nature lies open to the Father of men, and to every good impulse is as
it were empty. No bristling importance, no vain attendance of fancied
rights and wrongs, guards his door, or crowds the passages of his house;
they are for the angels to come and go. Abandoned thus to the truth, as
the sparks from the gleaming river dip into the flowers of Dante's
unperfected vision, so the many souls of the visible world, lights from
the father of lights, enter his heart