If any one took shelter behind his
possessions, wretchedness, poverty and disease found him out.
Ever is Lazarus at the king's gate haunting him, and he cannot avoid
it. At his banquets the ghosts of the wronged appear to him. Hollow-
eyed women and children point the finger of scorn at him, and phantoms
in his dreams shriek out at him, "Where is thy brother?" And he has no
excuse but the cowardly question, "Am I my brother's keeper?" His
children inherit the emanations from his cowardly soul and will not
rise up to call him blessed. His mind is not at ease, because the
atmosphere of envy is all around him; he knows _he_ is the cause
of evil thoughts, and that he holds his position by keeping comfort
away from many around him, and his fine surroundings become to him as
tinsel and dross. Dyspepsia, _ennui_ and weariness of spirit claim
him. He is a poverty-haunted coward, ashamed that he is so; and,
saddest of all, he is not a Christian. He does not believe that if he
seeks the kingdom of God, which means only to do aright, all things of
material beauty will be added to him, purifying, comforting, sustaining
him, strengthening him, glorifying him beyond his present power to
dream of.
But the Brook Farmers did.
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