They are told to love their neighbor , yet too many hate him because he possesses more of this world 's goods or honors than they : they are told that a rich man can not enter the kingdom of heaven , yet they go on laying up perishable wealth , and though often warned that moth and rust will corrupt , they fail to believe it till the worm that destroys enters and mars their own chapel of ease . Being a spirit , I see below external splendor and find much poverty of heart and soul under the velvet and the ermine which should cover rich and royal natures . Our city saints walk abroad in threadbare suits , and under quiet bonnets shine the eyes that make sunshine in the shady places . Often as I watch the glittering procession passing to and fro below me . I wonder if , with all our progress , there is to-day as much real piety as in the times when our fathers , poorly clad , with weapon in one hand and Bible in the other , came weary distances to worship in the wilderness with fervent faith unquenched by danger , suffering and solitude . `` Yet in spite of my fault-finding I love my children , as I call them , for all are not butterflies . Many find wealth no temptation to forgetfulness of duty or hardness of heart . Many give freely of their abundance , pity the poor , comfort the afflicted , and make our city loved and honored in other lands as in our own . They have their cares , losses , and heartaches as well as the poor ; it is n't all sunshine with them , and they learn , poor souls , that '' ` Into each life some rain must fall , Some days must be dark and dreary . ' `` But I 've hopes of them , and lately they have had a teacher so genial , so gifted , so well-beloved that all who listen to him must be better for the lessons of charity , good-will and cheerfulness which he brings home to them by the magic of tears and smiles . We know him , we love him , we always remember him as the year comes round , and the blithest song our brazen tongues utter is a Christmas carol to the Father of ` The Chimes ! ' '' As the spirit spoke his voice grew cheery , his old face shone , and in a burst of hearty enthusiasm he flung up his cap and cheered like a boy . So did the others , and as the fairy shout echoed through the belfry a troop of shadowy figures , with faces lovely or grotesque , tragical or gay , sailed by on the wings of the wintry wind and waved their hands to the spirits of the bells . As the excitement subsided and the spirits reseated themselves , looking ten years younger for that burst , another spoke . A venerable brother in a dingy mantle , with a tuneful voice , and eyes that seemed to have grown sad with looking on much misery . `` He loves the poor , the man we 've just hurrahed for , and he makes others love and remember them , bless him ! '' said the spirit . `` I hope he 'll touch the hearts of those who listen to him here and beguile them to open their hands to my unhappy children over yonder . If I could set some of the forlorn souls in my parish beside the happier creatures who weep over imaginary woes as they are painted by his eloquent lips , that brilliant scene would be better than any sermon . Day and night I look down on lives as full of sin , self-sacrifice and suffering as any in those famous books .
Day and XXXXX I try to comfort the poor by my cheery voice , and to make their wants known by proclaiming them with all my might .
Day Father bonnets days ermine fall fro heartaches night woes