Christian fiction; Wingfold, Thomas (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
own son into the world--had given him to appear among us, clothed in
the garb of humanity, the armour that can be pierced, to take all the
consequences of being the god of obedience amongst the children of
disobedience, engulfing their wrongs in his infinite forbearance, and
winning them back, by slow and unpromising and tedious renewal, to the
heart of his father, surely such a God would not have created them,
knowing that some of them would sin sins from the horror of which in
themselves all his devotion could not redeem them!--And as he thought
thus, the words arose in his mind--“COME UNTO ME ALL YE THAT LABOUR
AND ARE HEAVY LADEN, AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST.” His heart filled. He
pondered over them. When he got home he sought and found them in the
book.--Did a man ever really utter them? If a man did, either he was the
most presumptuous of mortals, or HE COULD DO WHAT HE SAID. If he could,
then to have seen and distrusted that man, Wingfold felt, would have
been to destroy in himself the believing faculty and become incapable
of trusting for ever after. And such a man must, in virtue of his very
innocence, know that the worst weariness and the worst load is evil
and crime, and must know himself able, in full righteousness, with no
jugglery of oblivion or self-esteem, to take off the heavy load and give
rest.
“And yet,” thought the curate, not without self-reproach, “for one who
will go to him to get the rest, a thousand will ask--HOW CAN HE THEN DO
IT?--As if they should be fit to know!”
CHAPTER XIII.
A SERMON TO HELEN.
All the rest of the week his mind was full of thoughts like these, amid
which ever arose the suffering face of Helen Lingard, bringing with
it the still strengthening suspicion that behind it must lie some
oppressive, perhaps terrible secret. But he made no slightest movement
towards the discovery of it, put not a single question in any direction
for its confirmation or dissolution. He would not look in at her
windows, but what seeds of comfort he could find, he would scatter wide,
and hope that some of them might fall into her garden.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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