"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might." (Eccl. 9:1010Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest. (Ecclesiastes 9:10))ECC 9:1010Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest. (Ecclesiastes 9:10)
“I THINK I understand our text to-day, aunt Fanny. Shall I tell you what I think it means?"
" Yes, Wilfrid, I am sure both Hilda and myself will be pleased to hear any thought you have about it. But don't forget, Wilfrid dear," aunt Fanny added in a gentle tone, "it is only by the teaching of the Holy Spirit we can really understand the word of God. But I cannot tell you how thankful I am," she continued with a smile, "to know that Wilfrid and Hilda Gray love the scriptures, which are able to make them wise unto salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus. (2 Tim. 3:1515And that from a child thou hast known the holy scriptures, which are able to make thee wise unto salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus. (2 Timothy 3:15).) But I must not talk any more just now, as we want to hear what Wilfrid has to say.”
“Oh, it won't take long to say all I have thought about our text, aunt Fanny. It was only this, it made me think of something we sing sometimes at day school,
‘Whether employ'd at books or play,
Work away, boys, work away.'
“Was it wrong, aunt Fanny?" Wilfrid asked, somewhat doubtfully.
“No indeed, Wilfrid, it is always right to work well and cheerfully. There is no blessing promised to idleness, and I am sure we cannot be too careful to do even what we call little things in a way that will please and glorify the Savior, ‘Whom having not seen we love.' But I have been reading not very long ago of a man who showed, I think, by his life that he had learned the lesson of our text. Shall I tell you his story?”
“Oh yes, if you please, aunt Fanny," was the delighted answer of both children, so aunt Fanny began at once by saying— "Bernard Palissy was the name of the remarkable man whose story you are so anxious to hear. I cannot stop to tell you much about the quaint little village of Saintes, in France, where rather more than three hundred years ago Bernard Palissy, the potter, lived in a poor cottage. Most of the people who lived in that part of France were very poor, so I don't think any of Palissy's neighbors would have taken much notice of his poverty if there had been no other reason for the notice they took of him.
“Sometimes a woman would say as he passed her on her way to market, ‘Look at his coat, it is so ragged I really don't see how he will be able to wear it much longer. He looks more like a beggar than anything else, and his wife too. I am quite sorry for the poor woman, she is so thin, and there is always a sad look on her face as if she had known some great trouble.'
“‘And his children,' Babette replied, the neighbor to whom the peasant woman had been talking, ‘I do not think there is another family in Saintes so ill-fed and poorly-clad as those unhappy little ones. My son's wife, who lives near them, has told me how last winter, when the younger children would often cry with cold and hunger, the eldest daughter would comfort them by telling them they must be brave and patient for a little while, till their father had finished his work, and then they should all have new frocks and shoes, and good soup for dinner every day.'
“‘Poor little things,' was the answer of the first speaker, ‘I am afraid they will have to wait a very long time before any good comes to them from his work. Why, the poor fellow is mad. Yes, he is quite gone out of his mind. Who knows what dreadful things may happen if a mad man is allowed to wander about our village!' she continued with a slight shudder.
“‘I do not think Bernard Palissy is mad,' her companion replied, I fear it is even worse than that. All our neighbors say he is a very wicked man, and has sold himself to Satan. Do not you know that some time ago he built a furnace in his garden? Now I have been told that often long after midnight flames have been seen coming out of his chimney, while Palissy himself, instead of being in his bed like a good Christian, was busy near his furnace. It is not for me to say what he does, but I fear it is no good, or he would not choose to work by night rather than day.'
“We will not follow the market women and their conversation any further, but return to the hero of our story.
“Bernard Palissy had received an education far above that of his peasant neighbors. He understood the art of painting on glass, and knew a good deal about chemistry. Now I am going to tell you the secret of the furnace. At the time at which my story opens, the French people did not know how to make paint, and glaze china. All the cups and plates of home manufacture were rough and coarse. It is true that a few rich people had very beautiful cups and vases which had been brought at a great cost from Italy, but the workmen who were employed in the china factory at Sevres were very careful not to allow any one to find out the way in which they were made.
"One of these cups had in some way become the property of Palissy. The more he looked at it the more he admired it. If he could only find out the secret, then instead of one he could have as many cups and vases as he wished, some even more beautiful than the original. He felt quite sure they would sell well, and then—ah, then a smile would play round his mouth, and a glad light come into his face as he thought of the good times he hoped were not very far off, when instead of the faded cotton gown his wife wore he should be able to buy her a dress of rich Lyons silk, and his children should never know again what it was to go to bed cold and hungry. Marie should have a new coif, or cap, and Jacques should go to a new school.
“I must not forget to tell you that Palissy was a simple happy Christian. Almost all the people who lived in France at that time were Roman Catholics, but here and there, just like bright lights in dark places, were a few poor people who would not give up their Bibles, and who had learned from the pure teaching of that blessed book that it was wrong to pray to images of Peter or Paul, or to worship a piece of wood as part of the cross on which the Lord Jesus was crucified.
“These Christians, of whom Palissy was one, were called Huguenots, or Protestants, by their neighbors, and were often called upon to suffer for the sake of Christ. Some day, perhaps, I may tell you more about them, but now I know you are wanting to hear about Palissy and his furnace.
“It was quite true that early and late the potter was busy at his work: but weeks and even months passed away, and the secret Palissy longed so much to know still remained a secret. He felt sure, quite sure, he should find it out some day, and meant to try again as long as he could keep the fire that heated his furnace burning.
“But very soon the little money he had saved was all spent in wood, there were not many things that could be sold in his little cottage, but one by one they all went for more wood. At last a day came when he felt almost sure the secret would reward his toil. He knew after many experiments what kind of chemicals to use, but in order to melt them a large fire must be kept burning for many hours.
"With a sad heart Palissy threw his last stick of wood on the flames. Should he give up trying? It seemed hard when he felt so certain success was near. His eye rested on some palings near his cottage door. Yes, they would serve for firewood, and soon torn from their places they fed the fire. But more fuel was soon needed, and with almost the strength of a madman Palissy tore the doors from their hinges, the window shutters from their frames. Only one thing that could be burnt remained in the cottage—the wooden floor. The chemicals were not melted, so board by board Palissy tore up the flooring.
"Once more with a quickly beating heart Palissy opened the door of his furnace and looked anxiously at the result of his work. Yes, the secret was his. The prize was won, and forgetting in that moment of delight how tired he was, he called his wife and children to rejoice with him.
“Better days followed, Palissy was appointed potter to the king of France, and might have become a rich man if he had not chosen to suffer for Christ rather than deny Him.
“When Palissy was quite an old man he was put, along with many other Protestants, into a prison called the Bastille. While there he received a visit from the king, who asked him to give up his Bible and become a Catholic. Respectfully but firmly Palissy told the king that to obey him in this would be to disobey God.
“‘Then I shall be compelled to leave you in prison,' the king replied.
“‘Sire,' was the answer of the brave old man, ' I am surprised to hear the great King Henry III of France say, I am compelled. All the power of France can only take my life, and that I am ready to lay down for Christ's sake. It cannot compel a simple believer in the Lord Jesus to bow the knee to images which are little better than idols.'
“And so the last ten years of Palissy's life were spent in prison. When he was almost eighty years of age the Lord gently took him to be with Himself.”