Surge, propera, amica mea, columba mea, formosa
mea, et veni. Jam enim hiems transiit, imber abiit et
recessit. Flores apparuerunt in terrâ nostrâ.
Arise, make haste, my love, my dove, my beautiful
one, and come. For the winter is now past, the rain is
over and gone. The flowers have appeared in our land.
We have familiar experience of the order, the
constancy, the perpetual renovation of the material
world which surrounds us. Frail and transitory
as is every part of it, restless and migratory as
are its elements, never ceasing as are its changes, 5
still it abides. It is bound together by a law of
permanence, it is set up in unity; and, though it
is ever dying, it is ever coming to life again.
Dissolution does but give birth to fresh modes of
organization, and one death is the parent of a 10
thousand lives. Each hour, as it comes, is but
a testimony, how fleeting, yet how secure, how
certain, is the great whole. It is like an image
on the waters, which is ever the same, though
the waters ever flow. Change upon 15
change--yet one change cries out to another, like the
alternate Seraphim, in praise and in glory
of their Maker. The sun sinks to rise again;
the day is swallowed up in the gloom of the
night, to be born out of it, as fresh as if it 20
had never been quenched. Spring passes into
summer, and through summer and autumn into
winter, only the more surely, by its own ultimate
return, to triumph over that grave, towards which
it resolutely hastened from its first hour. We
mourn over the blossoms of May, because they 5
are to wither; but we know, withal, that May is
one day to have its revenge upon November, by
the revolution of that solemn circle which never
stops--which teaches us in our height of hope,
ever to be sober, and in our depth of desolation, 10
never to despair.
And forcibly as this comes home to every one
of us, not less forcible is the contrast which exists
between this material world, so vigorous, so
reproductive, amid all its changes, and the moral 15
world, so feeble, so downward, so resourceless,
amid all its aspirations. That which ought to
come to naught, endures; that which promises a
future, disappoints and is no more. The same
sun shines in heaven from first to last, and the 20
blue firmament, the everlasting mountains,
reflect his rays; but where is there upon earth
the champion, the hero, the law giver, the body
politic, the sovereign race, which was great three
hundred years ago, and is great now? Moralists 25
and poets, often do they descant upon this innate
vitality of matter, this innate perishableness of
mind. Man rises to fall: he tends to dissolution
from the moment he begins to be; he lives on,
indeed, in his children, he lives on in his name, 30
he lives not on in his own person. He is, as regards
the manifestations of his nature here below,
as a bubble that breaks, and as water poured out
upon the earth. He was young, he is old, he is
never young again. This is the lament over him,
poured forth in verse and in prose, by Christians 5
and by heathen. The greatest work of God's
hands under the sun, he, in all the manifestations
of his complex being, is born only to die.
His bodily frame first begins to feel the power
of this constraining law, though it is the last to 10
succumb to it. We look at the gloom of youth
with interest, yet with pity; and the more
graceful and sweet it is, with pity so much the more;
for, whatever be its excellence and its glory, soon
it begins to be deformed and dishonored by the 15
very force of its living on. It grows into
exhaustion and collapse, till at length it crumbles
into that dust out of which it was originally
taken.
So is it, too, with our moral being, a far higher 20
and diviner portion of our natural constitution;
it begins with life, it ends with what is worse
than the mere loss of life, with a living death.
How beautiful is the human heart, when it puts
forth its first leaves, and opens and rejoices in 25
its spring-tide! Fair as may be the bodily form,
fairer far, in its green foliage and bright blossoms,
is natural virtue. It blooms in the young, like
some rich flower, so delicate, so fragrant, and so
dazzling. Generosity and lightness of heart and 30
amiableness, the confiding spirit, the gentle temper,
the elastic cheerfulness, the open hand, the
pure affection, the noble aspiration, the heroic
resolve, the romantic pursuit, the love in which
self has no part,--are not these beautiful? and
are they not dressed up and set forth for 5
admiration in their best shapes, in tales and in poems?
and ah! what a prospect of good is there! who
could believe that it is to fade! and yet, as night
follows upon day, as decrepitude follows upon
health, so surely are failure, and overthrow, and 10
annihilation, the issue of this natural virtue, if
time only be allowed to it to run its course.
There are those who are cut off in the first
opening of this excellence, and then, if we may trust
their epitaphs, they have lived like angels; but 15
wait awhile, let them live on, let the course of
life proceed, let the bright soul go through the
fire and water of the world's temptations and
seductions and corruptions and transformations;
and, alas for the insufficiency of nature! alas for 20
its powerlessness to persevere, its waywardness
in disappointing its own promise! Wait till
youth has become age; and not more different
is the miniature which we have of him when a
boy, when every feature spoke of hope, put side 25
by side of the large portrait painted to his honor,
when he is old, when his limbs are shrunk, his
eye dim, his brow furrowed, and his hair gray,
than differs the moral grace of that boyhood from
the forbidding and repulsive aspect of his soul, 30
now that he has lived to the age of man. For
moroseness, and misanthropy, and selfishness, is
the ordinary winter of that spring.
Such is man in his own nature, and such, too,
is he in his works. The noblest efforts of his
genius, the conquests he has made, the doctrines 5
he has originated, the nations he has civilized,
the states he has created, they outlive himself,
they outlive him by many centuries, but they
tend to an end, and that end is dissolution.
Powers of the world, sovereignties, dynasties, 10
sooner or later come to nought; they have their
fatal hour. The Roman conqueror shed tears
over Carthage, for in the destruction of the rival
city he discerned too truly an augury of the fall
of Rome; and at length, with the weight and the 15
responsibilities, the crimes and the glories, of
centuries upon centuries, the Imperial City fell.
Thus man and all his works are mortal; they
die, and they have no power of renovation.
But what is it, my Fathers, my Brothers, what 20
is it that has happened in England just at this
time? Something strange is passing over this
land, by the very surprise, by the very commotion,
which it excites. Were we not near enough the
scene of action to be able to say what is going 25
on,--were we the inhabitants of some sister planet
possessed of a more perfect mechanism than this
earth has discovered for surveying the
transactions of another globe,--and did we turn our
eyes thence towards England just at this season, 30
we should be arrested by a political phenomenon
as wonderful as any which the astronomer notes
down from his physical field of view. It would
be the occurrence of a national commotion, almost
without parallel, more violent than has happened
here for centuries--at least in the judgments 5
and intentions of men, if not in act and deed.
We should note it down, that soon after St.
Michael's day, 1850, a storm arose in the moral
world, so furious as to demand some great
explanation, and to rouse in us an intense desire to 10
gain it. We should observe it increasing from
day to day, and spreading from place to place,
without remission, almost without lull, up to this
very hour, when perhaps it threatens worse still,
or at least gives no sure prospect of alleviation. 15
Every party in the body politic undergoes its
influence,--from the Queen upon her throne,
down to the little ones in the infant or day school.
The ten thousands of the constituency, the
sum-total of Protestant sects, the aggregate of 20
religious societies and associations, the great body
of established clergy in town and country, the bar,
even the medical profession, nay, even literary
and scientific circles, every class, every
interest, every fireside, gives tokens of this 25
ubiquitous storm. This would be our report of it, seeing
it from the distance, and we should speculate
on the cause. What is it all about? against what
is it directed? what wonder has happened upon
earth? what prodigious, what preternatural event 30
is adequate to the burden of so vast an effect?
We should judge rightly in our curiosity about
a phenomenon like this; it must be a portentous
event, and it is. It is an innovation, a miracle,
I may say, in the course of human events. The
physical world revolves year by year, and begins 5
again; but the political order of things does not
renew itself, does not return; it continues, but it
proceeds; there is no retrogression. This is so
well understood by men of the day, that with
them progress is idolized as another name for 10
good. The past never returns--it is never good;
if we are to escape existing ills, it must be by
going forward. The past is out of date; the past
is dead. As well may the dead live to us, as well
may the dead profit us, as the past return. _This_, 15
then, is the cause of this national transport, this
national cry, which encompasses us. The past _has_
returned, the dead lives. Thrones are overturned,
and are never restored; States live and die, and
then are matter only for history. Babylon was 20
great, and Tyre, and Egypt, and Nineveh, and
shall never be great again. The English Church
was, and the English Church was not, and the
English Church is once again. This is the
portent, worthy of a cry. It is the coming in of a 25
Second Spring; it is a restoration in the moral
world, such as that which yearly takes place in
the physical.
Three centuries ago, and the Catholic Church,
that great creation of God's power, stood in this 30
land in pride of place. It had the honors of near
a thousand years upon it; it was enthroned on
some twenty sees up and down the broad country;
it was based in the will of a faithful people;
it energized through ten thousand instruments of
power and influence; and it was ennobled by a 5
host of Saints and Martyrs. The churches, one
by one, recounted and rejoiced in the line of
glorified intercessors, who were the respective
objects of their grateful homage. Canterbury
alone numbered perhaps some sixteen, from St. 10
Augustine to St. Dunstan and St. Elphege, from
St. Anselm and St. Thomas down to St. Edmund.
York had its St. Paulinus, St. John, St. Wilfrid,
and St. William; London, its St. Erconwald;
Durham, its St. Cuthbert; Winton, its St. 15
Swithun. Then there were St. Aidan of
Lindisfarne, and St. Hugh of Lincoln, and St.
Chad of Lichfield, and St. Thomas of
Hereford, and St. Oswald and St. Wulstan of
Worcester, and St. Osmund of Salisbury, and 20
St. Birinus of Dorchester, and St. Richard of
Chichester. And then, too, its religious orders,
its monastic establishments, its universities,
its wide relations all over Europe, its high
prerogatives in the temporal state, its wealth, its 25
dependencies, its popular honors,--where was
there in the whole of Christendom a more
glorious hierarchy? Mixed up with the civil
institutions, with kings and nobles, with the people,
found in every village and in every town,--it 30
seemed destined to stand, so long as England
stood, and to outlast, it might be, England's
greatness.
But it was the high decree of heaven, that the
majesty of that presence should be blotted out.
It is a long story, my Fathers and 5
Brothers--you know it well. I need not go through it. The
vivifying principle of truth, the shadow of St.
Peter, the grace of the Redeemer, left it. That
old Church in its day became a corpse (a
marvelous, an awful change!); and then it did but 10
corrupt the air which once it refreshed, and
cumber the ground which once it beautified. So all
seemed to be lost; and there was a struggle for
a time, and then its priests were cast out or
martyred. There were sacrileges innumerable. 15
Its temples were profaned or destroyed; its
revenues seized by covetous nobles, or squandered
upon the ministers of a new faith. The presence
of Catholicism was at length simply
removed,--its grace disowned,--its power despised,--its 20
name, except as a matter of history, at length
almost unknown. It took a long time to do this
thoroughly; much time, much thought, much
labor, much expense; but at last it was done.
Oh, that miserable day, centuries before we were 25
born! What a martyrdom to live in it and see
the fair form of Truth, moral and material,
hacked piecemeal, and every limb and organ
carried off, and burned in the fire, or cast into
the deep! But at last the work was done. Truth 30
was disposed of, and shoveled away, and there
was a calm, a silence, a sort of peace--and such
was about the state of things when we were born
into this weary world.
My Fathers and Brothers, _you_ have seen it on
one side, and some of us on another; but one and 5
all of us can bear witness to the fact of the utter
contempt into which Catholicism had fallen by
the time that we were born. You, alas, know it
far better than I can know it; but it may not be
out of place, if by one or two tokens, as by the 10
strokes of a pencil, I bear witness to you from
without, of what you can witness so much more
truly from within. No longer the Catholic
Church in the country; nay, no longer, I may
say, a Catholic community; but a few 15
adherents of the Old Religion, moving silently
and sorrowfully about, as memorials of what had
been. The "Roman Catholics,"--not a sect,
not even an interest, as men conceived of
it,--not a body, however small, representative of the 20
Great Communion abroad,--but a mere handful
of individuals, who might be counted, like the
pebbles and _detritus_ of the great deluge, and
who, forsooth, merely happened to retain a creed
which, in its day indeed, was the profession of a 25
Church. Here a set of poor Irishmen, coming and
going at harvest time, or a colony of them lodged
in a miserable quarter of the vast metropolis.
There, perhaps an elderly person, seen walking
in the streets, grave and solitary, and strange, 30
though noble in bearing, and said to be of good
family, and a "Roman Catholic." An
old-fashioned house of gloomy appearance, closed in
with high walls, with an iron gate, and yews, and
the report attaching to it that "Roman Catholics"
lived there; but who they were, or what they did, 5
or what was meant by calling them Roman
Catholics, no one could tell--though it had an
unpleasant sound, and told of form and
superstition. And then, perhaps, as we went to and fro,
looking with a boy's curious eyes through the 10
great city, we might come to-day upon some
Moravian chapel, or Quaker's meeting-house, and
to-morrow on a chapel of the "Roman Catholics;"
but nothing was to be gathered from it, except
that there were lights burning there, and some 15
boys in white, swinging censers; and what it all
meant could only be learned from books, from
Protestant Histories and Sermons; and they did
not report well of the "Roman Catholics," but,
on the contrary, deposed that they had once had 20
power and had abused it. And then, again, we
might on one occasion hear it pointedly put out
by some literary man, as the result of his careful
investigation, and as a recondite point of
information, which few knew, that there was this 25
difference between the Roman Catholics of England
and the Roman Catholics of Ireland, that the
latter had bishops, and the former were governed
by four officials, called Vicars-Apostolic.
Such was about the sort of knowledge possessed 30
of Christianity by the heathen of old time, who
persecuted its adherents from the face of the
earth, and then called them a _gens lucifuga_, a
people who shunned the light of day. Such were
Catholics in England, found in corners, and alleys,
and cellars, and the housetops, or in the recesses 5
of the country; cut off from the populous world
around them, and dimly seen, as if through a
mist or in twilight, as ghosts flitting to and fro,
by the high Protestants, the lords of the earth.
At length so feeble did they become, so utterly 10
contemptible, that contempt gave birth to pity;
and the more generous of their tyrants actually
began to wish to bestow on them some favor,
under the notion that their opinions were simply
too absurd ever to spread again, and that they 15
themselves, were they but raised in civil
importance, would soon unlearn and be ashamed of
them. And thus, out of mere kindness to us,
they began to vilify our doctrines to the Protestant
world, that so our very idiotcy or our secret 20
unbelief might be our plea for mercy.
A _great_ change, an _awful_ contrast, between the
time-honored Church of St. Augustine and St.
Thomas, and the poor remnant of their children
in the beginning of the nineteenth century! It 25
was a miracle, I might say, to have pulled down
that lordly power; but there was a greater and a
truer one in store. No one could have prophesied
its fall, but still less would any one have ventured
to prophesy its rise again. The fall was 30
wonderful; still after all it was in the order of nature;
all things come to naught: its rise again would
be a different sort of wonder, for it is in the order
of grace,--and who can hope for miracles, and
such a miracle as this? Has the whole course of
history a like to show? I must speak cautiously 5
and according to my knowledge, but I recollect
no parallel to it. Augustine, indeed, came to
the same island to which the early missionaries
had come already; but they came to Britons, and
he to Saxons. The Arian Goths and Lombards, 10
too, cast off their heresy in St. Augustine's age,
and joined the Church; but they had never fallen
away from her. The inspired word seems to imply
the almost impossibility of such a grace as the
renovation of those who have crucified to 15
themselves again, and trodden under foot, the Son of
God. Who then could have dared to hope that,
out of so sacrilegious a nation as this is, a people
would have been formed again unto their Saviour?
What signs did it show that it was to be singled 20
out from among the nations? Had it been
prophesied some fifty years ago, would not the
very notion have seemed preposterous and wild?
My Fathers, there was one of your own order,
then in the maturity of his powers and his 25
reputation. His name is the property of this diocese;
yet is too great, too venerable, too dear to all
Catholics, to be confined to any part of England,
when it is rather a household word in the mouths
of all of us. What would have been the feelings 30
of that venerable man, the champion of God's ark
in an evil time, could _he_ have lived to see this
day? It is almost presumptuous for one who
knew him not, to draw pictures about him, and
his thoughts, and his friends, some of whom are
even here present; yet am I wrong in fancying 5
that a day such as this, in which we stand, would
have seemed to him a dream, or, if he prophesied
of it, to his hearers nothing but a mockery? Say
that one time, rapt in spirit, he had reached
forward to the future, and that his mortal eye had 10
wandered from that lowly chapel in the valley
which had been for centuries in the possession of
Catholics, to the neighboring height, then waste
and solitary. And let him say to those about
him: "I see a bleak mount, looking upon an open 15
country, over against that huge town, to whose
inhabitants Catholicism is of so little account.
I see the ground marked out, and an ample
inclosure made; and plantations are rising there,
clothing and circling in the space. 20
"And there on that high spot, far from the
haunts of men, yet in the very center of the island,
a large edifice, or rather pile of edifices, appears
with many fronts, and courts, and long cloisters
and corridors, and story upon story. And there 25
it rises, under the invocation of the same sweet
and powerful name which has been our strength
and consolation in the Valley. I look more
attentively at that building, and I see it is fashioned
upon that ancient style of art which brings back 30
the past, which had seemed to be perishing from
off the face of the earth, or to be preserved only
as a curiosity, or to be imitated only as a fancy.
I listen, and I hear the sound of voices, grave
and musical, renewing the old chant, with which
Augustine greeted Ethelbert in the free air upon 5
the Kentish strand. It comes from a long
procession, and it winds along the cloisters. Priests
and Religious, theologians from the schools, and
canons from the Cathedral, walk in due precedence.
And then there comes a vision of well-nigh 10
twelve mitered heads; and last I see a Prince of
the Church, in the royal dye of empire and of
martyrdom, a pledge to us from Rome of Rome's
unwearied love, a token that that goodly
company is firm in Apostolic faith and hope. And 15
the shadow of the Saints is there; St. Benedict
is there, speaking to us by the voice of bishop
and of priest, and counting over the long ages
through which he has prayed, and studied, and
labored; there, too, is St. Dominic's white wool, 20
which no blemish can impair, no stain can dim:
and if St. Bernard be not there, it is only that
his absence may make him be remembered more.
And the princely patriarch, St. Ignatius, too, the
St. George of the modern world, with his chivalrous 25
lance run through his writhing foe, he, too, sheds
his blessing upon that train. And others, also,
his equals or his juniors in history, whose pictures
are above our altars, or soon shall be, the surest
proof that the Lord's arm has not waxen short, 30
nor His mercy failed,--they, too, are looking
down from their thrones on high upon the throng.
And so that high company moves on into the holy
place; and there, with august rite and awful
sacrifice, inaugurates the great act which brings
it thither." What is that act? it is the first 5
synod of a new Hierarchy; it is the resurrection
of the Church.
O my Fathers, my Brothers, had that revered
Bishop so spoken then, who that had heard him
but would have said that he spoke what could 10
not be? What! those few scattered worshipers,
_the_ Roman Catholics, to form a Church! Shall
the past be rolled back? Shall the grave open?
Shall the Saxons live again to God? Shall the
shepherds, watching their poor flocks by night, 15
be visited by a multitude of the heavenly army,
and hear how their Lord has been new-born in
their own city? Yes; for grace can, where
nature cannot. The world grows old, but the
Church is ever young. She can, in any time, at 20
her Lord's will, "inherit the Gentiles, and inhabit
the desolate cities." "Arise, Jerusalem, for thy
light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen
upon thee. Behold, darkness shall cover the
earth, and a mist the people; but the Lord shall 25
arise upon thee, and His glory shall be seen upon
thee. Lift up thine eyes round about, and see;
all these are gathered together, they come to
thee; thy sons shall come from afar, and thy
daughters shall rise up at thy side." "Arise, 30
make haste, my love, my dove, my beautiful one,
and come. For the winter is now past, and the
rain is over and gone. The flowers have appeared
in our land ... the fig tree hath put forth her
green figs; the vines in flower yield their sweet
smell. Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and 5
come." It is the time for thy Visitation. Arise,
Mary, and go forth in thy strength into that north
country, which once was thine own, and take
possession of a land which knows thee not. Arise,
Mother of God, and with thy thrilling voice speak 10
to those who labor with child, and are in pain,
till the babe of grace leaps within them! Shine
on us, dear Lady, with thy bright countenance,
like the sun in his strength, _O stella matutina_, O
harbinger of peace, till our year is one perpetual 15
May. From thy sweet eyes, from thy pure smile,
from thy majestic brow, let ten thousand
influences rain down, not to confound or
overwhelm, but to persuade, to win over thine enemies.
O Mary, my hope, O Mother undefiled, fulfill to 20
us the promise of this Spring. A second temple
rises on the ruins of the old. Canterbury has
gone its way, and York is gone, and Durham is
gone, and Winchester is gone. It was sore to
part with them. We clung to the vision of past 25
greatness, and would not believe it could come
to naught; but the Church in England has died,
and the Church lives again. Westminster and
Nottingham, Beverley and Hexham, Northampton
and Shrewsbury, if the world lasts, shall be 30
names as musical to the ear, as stirring to the
heart, as the glories we have lost; and Saints
shall rise out of them, if God so will, and
Doctors once again shall give the law to Israel,
and Preachers call to penance and to justice, as
at the beginning. 5
Yes, my Fathers and Brothers, and if it be
God's blessed will, not Saints alone, not Doctors
only, not Preachers only, shall be ours--but
Martyrs, too, shall re-consecrate the soil to God.
We know not what is before us, ere we win our 10
own; we are engaged in a great, a joyful work,
but in proportion to God's grace is the fury of
His enemies. They have welcomed us as the
lion greets his prey. Perhaps they may be
familiarized in time with our appearance, but 15
perhaps they may be irritated the more. To set
up the Church again in England is too great an
act to be done in a corner. We have had reason
to expect that such a boon would not be given
to us without a cross. It is not God's way that 20
great blessings should descend without the sacrifice
first of great sufferings. If the truth is to be
spread to any wide extent among this people, how
can we dream, how can we hope, that trial and
trouble shall not accompany its going forth? And 25
we have already, if it may be said without
presumption, to commence our work withal, a large
store of merits. We have no slight outfit for our
opening warfare. Can we religiously suppose that
the blood of our martyrs, three centuries ago and 30
since, shall never receive its recompense? Those
priests, secular and regular, did they suffer for
no end? or rather, for an end which is not yet
accomplished? The long imprisonment, the fetid
dungeon, the weary suspense, the tyrannous trial,
the barbarous sentence, the savage execution, the 5
rack, the gibbet, the knife, the caldron, the
numberless tortures of those holy victims, O my God,
are they to have no reward? Are Thy martyrs
to cry from under Thine altar for their loving
vengeance on this guilty people, and to cry in 10
vain? Shall they lose life, and not gain a
better life for the children of those who persecuted
them? Is this Thy way, O my God, righteous
and true? Is it according to Thy promise, O
King of Saints, if I may dare talk to Thee of 15
justice? Did not Thou Thyself pray for Thine
enemies upon the cross, and convert them? Did
not Thy first Martyr win Thy great Apostle, then
a persecutor, by his loving prayer? And in that
day of trial and desolation for England, when 20
hearts were pierced through and through with
Mary's woe, at the crucifixion of Thy body
mystical, was not every tear that flowed, and
every drop of blood that was shed, the seeds of a
future harvest, when they who sowed in sorrow 25
were to reap in joy?
And as that suffering of the Martyrs is not yet
recompensed, so, perchance, it is not yet
exhausted. Something, for what we know, remains
to be undergone, to complete the necessary 30
sacrifice. May God forbid it, for this poor nation's
sake! But still could we be surprised, my Fathers
and my Brothers, if the winter even now should
not yet be quite over? Have we any right to
take it strange, if, in this English land, the
spring-time of the Church should turn out to be an 5
English spring, an uncertain, anxious time of hope
and fear, of joy and suffering,--of bright promise
and budding hopes, yet withal, of keen blasts, and
cold showers, and sudden storms?
One thing alone I know,--that according to 10
our need, so will be our strength. One thing I
am sure of, that the more the enemy rages against
us, so much the more will the Saints in Heaven
plead for us; the more fearful are our trials from
the world, the more present to us will be our 15
Mother Mary, and our good Patrons and Angel
Guardians; the more malicious are the devices of
men against us, the louder cry of supplication will
ascend from the bosom of the whole Church to
God for us. We shall not be left orphans; we 20
shall have within us the strength of the Paraclete,
promised to the Church and to every member of
it. My Fathers, my Brothers in the priesthood,
I speak from my heart when I declare my
conviction, that there is no one among you here 25
present but, if God so willed, would readily
become a martyr for His sake. I do not say you
would wish it; I do not say that the natural will
would not pray that that chalice might pass
away; I do not speak of what you can do by any 30
strength of yours; but in the strength of God,
in the grace of the Spirit, in the armor of justice,
by the consolations and peace of the Church, by
the blessing of the Apostles Peter and Paul, and
in the name of Christ, you would do what nature
cannot do. By the intercession of the Saints on 5
high, by the penances and good works and the
prayers of the people of God on earth, you would
be forcibly borne up as upon the waves of the
mighty deep, and carried on out of yourselves by
the fullness of grace, whether nature wished it or 10
no. I do not mean violently, or with unseemly
struggle, but calmly, gracefully, sweetly, joyously,
you would mount up and ride forth to the battle,
as on the rush of Angels' wings, as your fathers
did before you, and gained the prize. You, who 15
day by day offer up the Immaculate Lamb of
God, you who hold in your hands the Incarnate
Word under the visible tokens which He has
ordained, you who again and again drain the
chalice of the Great Victim; who is to make you 20
fear? what is to startle you? what to seduce
you? who is to stop you, whether you are to
suffer or to do, whether to lay the foundations of
the Church in tears, or to put the crown upon the
work in jubilation? 25
My Fathers, my Brothers, one word more. It
may seem as if I were going out of my way in
thus addressing you; but I have some sort of
plea to urge in extenuation. When the English
College at Rome was set up by the solicitude of a 30
great Pontiff in the beginning of England's sorrows,
and missionaries were trained there for
confessorship and martyrdom here, who was it that
saluted the fair Saxon youths as they passed by
him in the streets of the great city, with the
salutation, "Salvete flores martyrum"? And when 5
the time came for each in turn to leave that
peaceful home, and to go forth to the conflict, to whom
did they betake themselves before leaving Rome,
to receive a blessing which might nerve them for
their work? They went for a Saint's blessing; 10
they went to a calm old man, who had never
seen blood, except in penance; who had longed
indeed to die for Christ, what time the great St.
Francis opened the way to the far East, but who
had been fixed as if a sentinel in the holy city, 15
and walked up and down for fifty years on one
beat, while his brethren were in the battle. Oh!
the fire of that heart, too great for its frail
tenement, which tormented him to be kept at home
when the whole Church was at war! and 20
therefore came those bright-haired strangers to him,
ere they set out for the scene of their passion,
that the full zeal and love pent up in that burning
breast might find a vent, and flow over, from him
who was kept at home, upon those who were to 25
face the foe. Therefore one by one, each in his
turn, those youthful soldiers came to the old man;
and one by one they persevered and gained the
crown and the palm,--all but one, who had not
gone, and would not go, for the salutary blessing. 30
My Fathers, my Brothers, that old man was
my own St. Philip. Bear with me for his sake.
If I have spoken too seriously, his sweet smile
shall temper it. As he was with you three
centuries ago in Rome, when our Temple fell, so
now surely when it is rising, it is a pleasant token 5
that he should have even set out on his travels to
you; and that, as if remembering how he
interceded for you at home, and recognizing the
relations he then formed with you, he should now be
wishing to have a name among you, and to be 10
loved by you, and perchance to do you a service,
here in your own land.