Paul’s Hymn to Love

“Love endureth all things.” — ! Cor. xiii. 7.

THERE is one thing which has often struck me in Paul’s hymn to love; it is a hymn in praise of what love forbears to do. Take it verse by verse, clause by clause, and you will find this true. It opens with the strain, ‘* Love suffers long; “it closes with the chord, ‘’Love abideth.” To “abide” is really the same thing as to “suffer long; “we say, ‘’ I cannot abide this” — cannot bear it. In its beginning, in its ending, in its intermediate stages, the hymn rings the changes on one note, “Love endureth.” Should we not have expected less prosaic ground? Should we not have looked for the harp to tell, not what love can bear, but what love can do? Why not speak of her gifts bestowed, of her treasures lavished, of her wealth diffused? Why not sing of the ointment she has outpoured, of the feet she has washed with her tears, of the spices she has brought to the sepulchre? Why not tell of her journeyings, of her bounties, of her charities, of her deeds of glory done? Would not this have made a grander hymn than the mere recital of how much she can bear without crying?

Nay, my soul, it is not so; Paul is right, and thou art wrong. The glory of all things lies in their arduous path. The arduous path of love is its forbearance. Art thou seeking a romantic outlet for thy love? Art thou looking for a chance to plunge into the river, or to face the devouring flame? Art thou saying, either to thy Christ or to thy brother, ‘’ Bid me that I come to Thee on the waters “? I would dissuade thee from such a prayer. It is not the height of the aim that makes me dissuade thee. I do not think the aim high enough, the test sure enough. It is easy for thy love to expand itself in an ecstatic spasm. It is easy for” the passion-flower at the gate “to let fall” a splendid tear “— to be sacrificial in heroic circumstances. But the test of thy love is where the circumstances arc not heroic. The test of thy love is where there is no splendour in the tear — where it falls in secret and unseen. Can thy love bear life’s little frictions? Can it bear the f rettings by the world’s prose? Can it bear to be itself misunderstood, misinterpreted? Can it endure a delay in the response; can it support those moments of silence where there is no return? Can it take ashes in exchange for beauty, the spirit of heaviness in response to the garment of praise? The poet tells us of a rose in a garden where there was no other rose ‘’ to reflect its blushes.” That garden must have been Gethsemane. If thy love can bear that and not die, it is worthy of Paul’s hymn.