The character of these hidden sorrows varies with each individual. Sometimes it is the memory of a broken home. Sometimes it is the memory of a broken friendship. Sometimes it is the loss of the heart’s love beneath the flowers in the garden of the dead. Sometimes it is the bitter word that stings the more with the years. Oh, there are countless aches to the countless millions of [people]. Humanity has not yet sung a song that has not held a minor chord. The weary-hearted, the broken-hearted, sit beside the rivers as Israel at Babylon and cannot sing because memory has driven song out of their lives.
The hidden sorrow of our hearts ought to make us very tender with others. We are partners in the valleys of pain. The word ought to be soft, since we may open again the wound that has not healed. A fellow feeling ought to make us wondrous kind.
But the hidden sorrows of life make religion more real and the need of God more felt. There is a chastened joy in the faith that tells of a “land that is fairer than day,” a “home of the soul,” where no sorrow comes, and where the song of life is never lost. But religion has a meaning to us here that soothes the burdened spirit. God has heart-ease for hidden griefs. He knows how to minister to spirits in pain. And he is a very present help in trouble. The soul in its sorrows has a desperate need of God, and then we come into such fellowship with him that our love is ecstasy. Selected.