Temptation is a terrible thing. It is a band of armed brigands, storming the citadel of the soul to carry away everything that is of value. To yield is to have the soul ransacked and burned as though by fire. To face it confidently in one’s own strength is gravest folly. There is only one possibility of victory. In that hour of peril, when eternal destinies are at stake, let one feel his own weakness, and fall helplessly at the feet of Christ, and call with all the earnestness and pathos of his frightened soul, “Lord, save, or I perish!” and victory shall fill his heart with joy and crown his brow with the light of heaven. This truth is applicable to all our sorrows. There have been hours when we thought best to meet our sorrows and disappointments with the spirit of a stoic. With clinched fists, tight-pressed lips, and dry eyes, we stood, proud of our strength, defying sorrow by bidding it to do its worst. We insisted that we were not weak like others, and that we would boldly bear our own burdens. But the end was defeat and uncontrollable grief. The burden was so much heavier and the grief was so much more bitter than we had ever expected, that we were crushed and overcome. Meanwhile at our side stood one frail and weak, whose bloodshot eyes spoke of countless nights of grief and anxiety, but whose calm face and steady voice assured us that she had gained a wonderful victory, and, in spite of tempest, had inner calm and rest. How came the victory to the frail? Because she was frail and knew that she was frail. As headed wheat saves its life by bowing passively to the stroking of the violent winds, so she bowed low at the touch of sorrow. She yielded herself to the will of God. As Mary and Martha, in their hour of sorrow and puzzling questions, forgot everything and fell weeping at the feet of their Lord, so this woman poured out her prayer of utter helplessness to God, saying, “Save, Lord, or I perish,” and in her weakness she became strong. The strength that is needed to meet sorrow comes, not from self-control, but abandonment to God; not from dry eyes, but from tears.