T HE K I N G ’ S B U S I N E S S
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such an easy thing to offer the "sacri fice of thanksgiving," that one would suppose everybody would be keen to do it. But somehow the contrary seems to be the case; and if the prayers of Chris tians were all to he noted down for any one single day, I fear it would be found that nine out of every ten offered no genuine thanks at all. We need to cultivate the habit of thanksgiving. As it is, I fear we are far more apt to cultivate the habit of complaining. We pass over our bless ings without notice, and fix our eyes on our trials and our losses instead. And we think and talk about these until our whole horizon is filled with them, and we come to forget that we have any blessings at all. In a capital little tract called “Mrs. Pickett’s Missionary Box,” a poor woman who had never done any thing but complain all her life long, and who, consequently, had got to thinking that she had no benefits for which tq give thanks, received a missionary box with the words written on it, “What shall I render unto the Lord for all His benefits towards me?” and was asked by her niece to put a penny into the box for every blessing she could discover in her life. I will let her tell her own story: “ ‘Great benefits I have!’ says I stand ing with my arms akimbo an’ lookin’ that box all over. ‘Guess the heathen won’t get much out of me at that rate.’ An’ I jest made up my mind I would keep count jest to show myself how little I did have. ‘Them few pennies won’t break me,’ I thought, and I really seemed to kinder enjoy thinkin’ over the hard times 1 had. “Well, the box sot there all that week, an’ I used to say, it must be kinder lonesome with nothin’ in it, for not a penny went into it until next mis sionary meetin’ day. I was sittin’ on the back steps gettin’ a breath of fresh air when Mary come home an' set down
alongside o’ me an’ begun to tell me about the meetin’; an’ it was all about Injy an’ the wldders there, poor cre- turs, an’ they bein’ abused an’ starved an’ not let to think for themselves—£ you know all about it better’n I do!— an’ before I thought, I up an’ said: “ ‘Well, if I be a widder, I’m thank ful I’m where I kin earn my own livin’, an’ no thanks to nobody an’ no one to interfere!’ “Then Mary she laughed an’ said there was my fust benefit.. Well, that sorter tickled me, for I thought a woman must be pretty hard up for benefits when she had to go clear off to Injy to find them, an’ I .dropped in onq penny, an’ it rattled round a few days without any company. I used to shake it every time I passed the shelf, an’ the thought of them poor things in Injy kep’ a cornin’ up before me, an’ I really was glad when I got a new boarder for me best room, an’ felt as if I’d oughter put in another. An’ next meetin’, Mary she told me about Japan, an’ I thought about that till I put in another be cause I warn’t a Jap. An’ all the while I felt kinder proud of how little there was in that box. Then one day, when I got a chance to turn a little penny sellin’ eggs, which I warn’t in the habit of, Mary brought the box in where I was countin’ of my money, an’ says: “ ‘A penny for your benefit, Aunt Mirandy.’ “An’ I says, ‘This ain’t the Lord’s benefit.’ “An’ she answered, ‘If’t ain’t His, whose is it?’ An’ she begun to hum over somethin’ out of one of the poetry books that she was always a readin’ of: “God’s grace is the only grace, “And all grace is the grace of God. “Well, I dropped in my penny, an’ them words kep’ ringin’ in my ears, till I couldn’t help puttin’ more to it, on account of some other things I never thought of callin’ the Lord’s benefits
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