It is a fine thing in friendship," says George MacDonald, "to
know when to be silent." There are times when silence is the truest,
fittest, divinest, most blessed thing, when words would only mar the
hallowed sweetness of love's ministry. But there are times again when
silence is disloyalty, cruelty, unkind as winter air to tender plants.
Especially is this true of gratitude; to be coldly silent, when the
heart is grateful, is a sin against love. When we have a word of
thanks in our heart, which we feel we might honestly speak, and which
we do not speak, we have sorely wronged our friend.

Especially in homes ought there to be more grateful expression. We
wrong home friends more than any other friends. Home is where love is
truest and tenderest. We need never fear being misunderstood by the
loved ones who there cluster about us. Yet too often home is the very
place where we are most miserly of grateful and appreciative words. We
let gentle spirits starve close beside us for the words of
affectionateness that lie warm, yet unspoken, on our tongues. None of
us know what joy and strength we could impart to others, if only we
would train ourselves to give fitting, delicate, and thoughtful
expression to the gratitude that is in our hearts. We would become
blessings to all about us, and would receive into our life new
gladness. Nothing is sadder than the sorrow witnessed about many a
Coffin; the grief of bereavement and loss made bitter by the regret
that now the too slow gratitude of the heart shall never have
opportunity to utter itself in the ear which waited so long, hungry,
and in vain, for the word that would have given such comfort.

"Over the coffin pitiful we stand,
And place a rose within the helpless hand,
That yesterday, mayhap, we would not see,
When it was meekly offered. On the heart
That often ached for an approving word,
We lay forget-me-nots--we turn away,
And find the world is colder for the loss
Of this so faulty and so loving one.

"Think of that moment, ye who reckon close
With love--so much for every gentle thought,
The moment when love's richest gifts are naught:
When a pale flower, upon a pulseless breast,
Like your regret, exhales its sweets in vain."

But it is not enough that we be grateful and show our gratitude to the
human friends who do us kindnesses. It is to God that we owe all.
Every good and perfect gift, no matter how it reaches us, through w