The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me: and I caused the widow’s heart to sing for joy. — Job 29:13.
It is said that Dr. Blair once wrote out a plain prescription for a wealthy lady who had many imaginary ills that ran thus : “Do something for somebody.” The doctor heard nothing from his patient until Christmas morning when he was hastily summoned to the cottage of her Irish washer woman.
“It’s not meself, sir, it’s me wrist that’s ailin’. You see, I was goin’ out into the black darkness for a few bits of wood, when me foot struck this basket. It stood here like a big mercy, as it was full of soft flannel from Mrs. Walker. She told me that your medicine cured her, doctor; so if you’ll plaze to put a little of that same on me wrist, I’ll be none the worse for me nice present.”
“It’s a powerful remedy,” said the doctor gravely. And more than once in after years he wrote the prescription, “Do something for somebody.”
Seldom can a heart be lonely,
If it seeks a lonelier still:
Self-forgetting, seeking only
Emptier cups with love to fill.