When we are out of sympathy with the young, then I think our

Hear the words of George MacDonald, poet, preacher, and the spiritual father of many storytellers who followed him. He declared: “When we are out of sympathy with the young, then I think our work in this world is over.” This utterance resounds with the force of eternal wisdom. For in it he reveals that the lifeblood of humanity is not found in power, nor in wealth, nor in glory, but in our bond with those who rise after us. When the heart loses its compassion for the young, it has lost its purpose; when the spirit no longer delights in their laughter, their questions, their dreams, then it has turned inward, and life itself has passed it by.

To be in sympathy with the young is to remember the mystery of growth, the sacred flame of possibility. The child, the youth, is not yet hardened by disappointment, not yet imprisoned by habit. They carry the spark of tomorrow, unshaped, unspoiled, brimming with hope. MacDonald, who wrote tales of wonder like The Princess and the Goblin, knew that to speak to the imagination of children was to plant seeds that would grow into forests of faith and creativity. His words remind us that our duty is not finished until we have passed on wisdom, tenderness, and encouragement to those who will live beyond us.

The origin of this teaching lies in MacDonald’s role as both a father and a writer. He himself raised eleven children, and his household was filled with joy, sorrow, and the lessons of life. He saw how the innocence and wonder of the young could renew the weary heart of the adult. He believed that any society—or any soul—that turns cold toward its youth has lost its moral compass. To despise the young, or to dismiss them, is to abandon the future itself.

History proves this lesson true. Consider the example of Socrates, who wandered the streets of Athens not to flatter the powerful but to converse with the youth. He asked them questions, stirred their imaginations, and urged them toward truth. Though condemned by the elders of the city, Socrates entrusted his wisdom to the young, believing that the next generation carried within it the hope of a better world. So too MacDonald insists: when we cease to guide, to cherish, and to hope for the young, then our work is finished, for we have severed ourselves from life’s forward march.

The deeper meaning is that sympathy for the young is not mere sentiment, but a form of humility. To listen to them is to admit that we do not hold all answers, that the world is always being reborn through fresh eyes. The young remind us that time is not static, that each dawn brings renewal. When we scorn them, we cling to the past and close our hearts to growth. But when we walk with them, laugh with them, and guide them, we ourselves are made young again in spirit.

Beloved listener, take this lesson into your life. Seek out the company of the young. Listen to their questions, even when they seem naïve. Encourage their dreams, even when they seem impossible. Protect their innocence, yet prepare them for wisdom. For in doing so, you extend your work in this world beyond your own years, planting seeds in soil you may never walk upon, but which will bloom long after you are gone.

Therefore, let us guard against bitterness, against the temptation to dismiss the young as foolish or shallow. Instead, let us see in them the same fire that once burned in our own youth. Let us remember that our task is not only to live our lives well, but to pass the torch to those who come after. For when that torch is dropped, and when our hearts no longer beat in sympathy with theirs, then truly our work is ended.

Thus the wisdom of George MacDonald endures: that the measure of a life is not only in what it builds for itself, but in what it gives to the young. Remain in sympathy with them, and you remain in touch with the eternal renewal of the human spirit. Lose that bond, and your time upon the earth has already passed, even before the grave has claimed you.