The Clergyman's Wife and Other Sketches/Passing Words

by Anna Cora Mowatt

PASSING WORDS.

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passing word, mere sounding breath, how light its import seems! how "big with fate" it often proves! Not alone words that are the voice of daily thoughts, but words that are only the utterance of a transient emotion, forgotten soon as felt; words that are but an idly spoken impulse melt not away with the air that holds them, but assume mysterious shapes of good. or evil, to influence and haunt the hearer's life.

These passing words are seed scattered perchance by liberal, perchance by inconsequent hands; though lightly, unpremeditatedly dropped, if they fall upon receptive minds, upon open, fertile soils, they strike vigorous roots, germinate in silence and darkness, and, before we know that they are planted, bring forth grapes or thistles. Blessed are they whose paths on earth may be tracked by the good seed sown in passing words!

A passing word of truth may be likened to an ostrich egg chance-laid in sand. Warmed by the sun alone, without the help of brooding wings, untended and unwatched, the noble bird bursts, in due season, from its shell. Even so that living truth, dropped without thought, unfostered, save by heaven's quickening heart, may rise betimes in glorious growth.

A casual word of praise has colored a whole existence; that single word, that passing breath, touching the bended bow of Destiny, has given direction to the arrow's flight, has decided the future career of the man; even as a mother's kiss of approval made Benjamin West a painter.

A word of kind encouragement has imparted to latent powers an impetus that made some shrinking soul thrill, palpitate, expand with the sense of its own undeveloped capabilities, the consciousness of what it might achieve, the prescience of what it would become.

An earnest word of guidance has woven a golden thread, strong and bright, in the web of a life.

A tender word—oh! it has fallen like manna, and nourished and revived the hungry, pining heart; it has softened sorrows no poured-out gold could soothe; it has healed wounds no Galen's skill could reach; it has lifted up prostrate heads. no Titan's strength could raise; it is the talismanic pearl of all speech.

A soft word, that turns away wrath; how great is its might! It has warded off the cutting assaults of a sharp tongue, even as a polished shield causes the keenest weapon to glance aside. It has disarmed more enemies than the sword ever conquered.

A hopeful word; how potent is its holy exorcism! It has drawn down a sudden stream of sunshine into souls that were dungeons of darkness, and by that single heavenly ray, has put to flight the destroying demons of despair.

But oh! a bitter word, impulsively spoken, unremembered an hour after, has it not sunk deep into the hearer's mind, and turned the sweet waters of memory to Marah?

Terrible is the power of a passing word of anger. It has divided hearts that had been "twin as 'twere, in love inseparable;" its fiery breath has forged a flaming sword to guard the Gate of Friendship, that they who walked in the garden of old might never enter more.

"Angry words are lightly spoken,
 Bitterest thoughts are rashly stirred,
Brightest links of life are broken,
 By a single angry word."

A word of idle slander, of thoughtless disparagement, has irretrievably blasted a spotless name, and defiled the pure vesture of Innocence.

A contemptuous word, a word of unsympathizing rebuke, carelessly uttered, has hardened a fallen spirit, and confirmed it in obstinate evil doing. Ever fresh in our remembrance, ever heeded and revered, be the solemn admonition:

"Speak not harshly; much of care
Every human heart must bear!
Enough of shadows darkly lie
Veiled within the sunniest eye.
By thy childhood's gushing tears,
By the griefs of after years,
By the anguish thou dost know,
Add not to another's woe!"

On the lips of women, at least, let us find spontaneous words of truth, hope, tenderness, praise, guidance! Kind words to their utterance should be familiar as their very breath. The oftener they speak them the more readily they will spring to their tongues, the more naturally they will drop from their lips, until their mouths resemble (at least, to the eyes of angels,) that of the pure-hearted maiden of fairy-tale memory, whose lips let fall diamonds, pearls and flowers, whenever she spoke; for Pascal says: "Kind words have been styled the flowers of existence; they make a paradise of home, however humble it may be; they are the jewelry of the heart, the gems of the domestic circle, the symbols of human life."