Aunt Isobel had had it framed, and below on an
illuminated scroll was written--"What are these wounds in Thine
Hands? Those with which I was wounded in the house of My friends."
"I often think," she said, when we had hung it up and were looking at
it, "that it is not in our Lord's Cross and Passion that His patience
comes most home to us. To be patient before an unjust judge or brutal
soldiers might be almost a part of self-respect; but patience with the
daily disappointments of a life 'too good for this world,' as people
say, patience with the follies, the unworthiness, the ingratitude of
those one loves--these things are our daily example. For wounds in the
house of our enemies pride may be prepared; wounds in the house of our
friends take human nature by surprise, and GOD only can teach us to
bear them. And with all reverence I think that we may say that ours
have an element of difficulty in which His were wanting. They are
mixed with blame on our own parts."
"That is why you have put that text for me?" said I. My aunt nodded.
I was learning to illuminate, and I took much pride in my room. I
determined to make a text for myself, and to choose a very plain
passage about ill-temper.
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