When we give our hearts with our alms, we give well—but we must often confess failure in this respect. Not so our Master and our Lord! His favors are always performed with the love of his heart.

He does not send us the cold meat and broken pieces from the table of his luxury. No! He dips our morsel in his own dish and seasons our provisions with the spices of his fragrant affections. When he puts the golden tokens of his grace into our palms, he accompanies the gift with such a warm pressure of our hand that the manner of his giving is as precious as the gift itself.

He will come into our houses upon his errands of kindness. And he will not act like some austere visitors in the poor man's cottage. Instead, he sits by our side—not despising our poverty, not blaming our weakness.

Beloved, with what smiles does he speak! What golden sentences drop from his gracious lips! What embraces of affection does he bestow upon us! If he had but given us farthings, the way of his giving would have gilded them. But as it is, the costly alms are set in a golden basket by his pleasant manner.

It is impossible to doubt the sincerity of his charity, for there is a bleeding heart stamped upon the face of all his benefactions. He gives liberally and upbraids not. Not one hint that we are burdensome to him! Not one cold look for his poor pensioners! Instead, he rejoices in his mercy and presses us to his bosom while he is pouring out his life for us.

There is a fragrance in his spikenard which nothing but his heart could produce. There is a sweetness in his honey-comb which could not be in it unless the very essence of his soul's affection had been mingled with it.

Oh! The rare communion which such singular heartiness effects! May we continually taste and know the blessedness of it!