fect beauty, than it is
for us to be perfectly generous: it is easier for us to give God all that
we have, to empty heart, mind and soul, and worldly goods at His
feet, than it is to reach to any other perfection; for generosity
appears to be more universal, more within our capacities, more
"natural" to us than any other virtue--do we not see it continually
used, exercised, spent, thrown away on the merest trifles? Let us
take, for instance, the tennis player: to win the game he must give
every ounce of himself to it--mind, eye, heart, and body,--sweating
there in the glare of the sun to win the game. Would he give himself
so, would he sweat so, in order to find God, or to please God? Oh no!
Yet in the hour of death and afterwards, will he be helped by this
victory of flying balls? If by chance we could lift a corner of the veil,
we might catch a glimpse of the face of Folly, mockingly, cunningly
peering at us, as all too easily she persuades us to give of our royal
coins of generosity to wantons, to phantom enterprises, to balls
filled with air, to dust and vanity.

Generosity is our easiest means of coming to God, because it is also
the way of love: if the tennis player did not love the game, he would
not give himself so to it. But we cry, "I have nothing whatever to
give to God; it is to God I turn in order that He may give everything
to me." Quite so: there is too much of that. We have obedience to
give: obedience is a great gift to God, or, more truthfully speaking,
in His magnanimity He accepts it as such; we have also love to give,
and again we may cry, "But my love is puny, shifting; it is nothing
at all, a mere trifle." That is true of "natural" love, of the love that
we commence of our own human nature to love Him with; but it is
not true of the love which we receive of the Holy Ghost when He
baptizes us.

When we offer this Peculiar Love, offer it as only it can be offered--for
love's sake,--immediately we are in the Presence of God, secretly,
marvellously united to Him; we are in the Consolations of God, and
we have no need to ask for anything whatever; indeed, we find
ourselves unable to ask, because we are filled to the brim,
overflowing, inexpressibly satisfied, utterly blessed.

But supposing that we do not _give_ to God, but, earnestly seeking
Him, we merely ask some favour, and sit and wait for Him to give?
Then probably we shall not be sensible of receiving anything from
Him whatever; we shall fee