Forbearance is even _more_ than forgiveness; it is excusing, putting always the best construction upon everything; above all, never showing that some proceeding has wounded us; speaking of any one who has vexed us thus: "She did not think, else she would have acted differently; she never meant to pain me, she loves me too much; she was perhaps unable to do otherwise, and yet suffers at the thought of having displeased me." For a wounded heart no balm is so efficacious as forbearance. _To forbear_ is to forget every night the little vexations of the past day; to say every morning: "To-day I shall be braver and calmer than yesterday." Forbearance even sometimes leads us to detect in ourselves a little want of good nature, condescension, and charity. _To forbear_ is not only freely to forgive, but to meet half-way, with extended hand, those who timidly ask for pardon. XLIII. My friend, do you know why the work you accomplish fails either to give pleasure to yourself or others? It is because it is not cheerfully done, and therefore appears discolored. A joyous heart amid our work imparts to duty a brilliancy that charms the eyes of others, while it prevents those feeling wounded who cannot perform it equally well. Joy, with us, is like a lever, by which we lift the weights that without its help would crush us. A workman once said: "If I were to leave off singing, I should be quite unequal to my business." Then sing always; let your heart sing as in its earliest years. The refrain of the heart, which perhaps never passes the lips, but which echoes in heaven, is this sentence:-- "I love and I am beloved!" XLIV. What regret we sometimes feel, after the death or departure of friends, at never having shown them the respect, the gratitude, we felt towards them, and how from the depths of our heart we are filled with tenderness and affection for them! It may have been that at times we could not speak, because we thought too much of _how_ to say it. Another time we lost the opportunity, because we were always shirking it. Deep devotion is sometimes a little erratic; always afraid of doing too little, doing it badly or inopportunely. Oftener still the tokens of affection are checked, because we think we could show it in some better way; we put off till brighter days the dreams we cherished, the sweet yearning to open the heart to the loved ones, and let them see for once what a large place they fill there. Alas! the days fly past, suddenly comes death, or, sadder still, separation without hope of return, leaving the bitter thought: "Others will show them better than I have done, how dear, how valued, they are." Ah! when we can be loving _to-day_, never let us say, "I will love to-morrow;" when we have the opportunity of being grateful, never put off, for _one_ hour, the proof of our gratitude! * * * * * CONCLUSION