The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1874-05-28
Father Ryan, the Poet Priest of the South,
Makes Sensation in New York.

The New York Sun thus describes Father
Ryan and his preaching on his recent visit to
New York:
Respectful and music-loving as Catholic con-
gregations are, that in st. Stephens last night,
showed signs of impatience that the floods of
melody from the organ should cease, and per-
nit them to listen to the orator, and when at
last Father Ryan made his appearance with
DR.. McGlynn, the futter of expectation became
audible, and as he ascended the pulpit many
rose from their seats and stretched their necks
to catch better view of the small, ungraceful,
unpretendng man that stood before them. He
looked neither the poet nor the orator. But
when he had finished reading from the eigh-
teenth chapter of the Gospel of St. John, the
account of Pilates last interview with Jesus,
in ringing, sonorous voice, that penetrated
like sharp bell to all parts of the building,
and stood Silently gazing on the multitude af-
ter uttering the words, "What is truth 2" the
singular power of genius held his audience
spell bound even before he broke forth in clari-
on tones that electrified them. "Pilate, Gov
ernor of Judea, did you ever forget the pale
face of the poor prisoner that bound and
shackled before you, looked back into your
face with his sad eyes? Did you ever forget
his low whispers when he answered your in
terrogatory? Did he haunt you to the last
day Of your life with his poor, pale face that
on that Friday morning gazed into yours !?
Did it torture you to the end? A man bound
and fettered, without one friend to sustain him
and to say to the Governor, He is true, and
therefore Innocent Poor, powerless, friend
less, he stood before the ruler and answered,
and ere his answer could be heard, Plate re-
turned him to the multitude without who
clamored for his blood. Before Pilate he stood
in the guise of malefactor, and he, the
naughty Roman whose banner had flashed in
victory in every quarter of the world, asked q
man fettered and bound, Are you king p"
For an hour and twenty minutes he held his
auditors enchanted by succession of alternate
logical points and flowers of poetic metaphor
and symbolism, mosaicked in stream of pure
and elegant English.
as soon as he began speaking his form and
face glowed with the fire Of elcquence, and
every movement and gesture was full of i'm
passioned grace and beautiful in expression.
His small and we'll formed hands are as express
sive as his face His concluding words we're:
"Ever since that Good Friday truth has become
coronet linked with a sorrow. They nailed
his feet to the cross, but instead Of stopping
them in their pathway it made them strong to
travel through ages with his children. Roses
fade, but thorns endure through years and ages.
Truth was cradIed before the human race
was cradled and earth and humanity will die
before its de prgundis will be sung. Truth
never wears perhaps. 1t is an everlasting
yes. She is as intolerant of uncertainty as
arithmetic and geometry are. They laugh at
your efforts to make twice two three, or to make
the three angles of a triangle equal to four right
angles. But while truth is intolerant of false
hood, she must be tolerant of those who fall in
c-1- i e tI,oy
take they are making. Smile not at the Druid
who clasped an oak thinking he had found
truth Honor him rather that he pursued her
though he worshpped an error. But we have
not shadow of the TRUTH but truth itself;
not CLEAN of heaven through rift in cloud,
but the full blue and the cleaning sunlight of
truth to lead US to the sunlight of eternity