Pomposus Silverman purchased a rich library a few years ago. The
books were rare and costly. That was the reason why Pomposus bought
them. He was proud to feel that he was the possessor of literary
treasures which were not to be found in the houses of his wealthiest
acquaintances. But the threadbare Bucherfreund, who was engaged at
a slender salary to catalogue the library and take care of it,
became the real proprietor. Pomposus paid for the books, but
Bucherfreund enjoyed them.
I do not mean to say that the possession of much money is always a
barrier to real wealth of mind and heart. Nor would I maintain that
all the poor of this world are rich in faith and heirs of the
kingdom. But some of them are. And if some of the rich of this
world (through the grace of Him with whom all things are possible)
are also modest in their tastes, and gentle in their hearts, and
open in their minds, and ready to be pleased with unbought
pleasures, they simply share in the best things which are provided
for all.
I speak not now of the strife that men wage over the definition and
the laws of property. Doubtless there is much here that needs to be
set right. There are men and women in the world who are shut out
from the right to earn a living, so poor that they must perish for
want of daily bread, so full of misery that there is no room for the
tiniest seed of joy in their lives. This is the lingering shame of
civilization. Some day, perhaps, we shall find the way to banish
it. Some day, every man shall have his title to a share in the
world's great work and the world's large joy.
But meantime it is certain that, where there are a hundred poor
bodies who suffer from physical privation, there are a thousand poor
souls who suffer from spiritual poverty. To relive this greater
suffering there needs no change of laws, only a change of heart.
What does it profit a man to be the landed proprietor of countless
acres unless he can reap the harvest of delight that blooms from
every rood of God's earth for the seeing eye and the loving spirit?
And who can reap that harvest so closely that there shall not be
abundant gleaning left for all mankind? The most that a wide estate
can yield to its legal owner is a living. But the real owner can
gather from a field of goldenrod, shining in the August sunlight, an
unearned increment of delight.
We measure success by accumulation. The measure is false. The true
measure is appreciation. He who loves most has most.
How foolishly we train ourselves for the work of life! We give our
most arduous and eager efforts to the cultivation of those faculties
which will serve us in the competitions of the forum and the market-
place. But if we were wise, we should care infinitely more for the
unfolding of those inward, secret, spiritual powers by which alone
we can become the owners of anything that is worth having. Surely
God is the great proprietor. Yet all His works He has given away.
He holds no title-deeds. The one thing that is His, is the perfect
understanding, the perfect joy, the perfect love, of all things that
He has made. To a share in this high ownership He welcomes all who
are poor in spirit. This is the earth which the meek inherit. This
is the patrimony of the saints in light.
"Come, laddie," I said to my comrade, "let us go home. You and I
are very rich. We own the mountains. But we can never sell them,
and we don't want to."
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