The Irish standard., 1895-01-05


old of the sanctuary. For time every
thing is buehed, but soon is heard the
deep prevailing sound Of the organ roll
ing and vibrating through the melan.
choly old pile, whilst the sweet chanting
of the choir singing "nunc diurittis,"
made it resound with melody and praise
Never has it been more sensible OF the
sanctifyiug effect of music than here
among the tombs of the dead, where i
have heard it thus poured forth like a
river of Joy through the inmost recesses
of this great church, elevating it, as it
were, from all the vsnities of earth and
bearing souls who are weary of waiting
on q tide Of triumphant harmony to
heaven.
s'Ha,k the numbers soft and clear,
Gently steal upon the ear:
Now louder and yet louder rise,
And fill with spreading sounds the skies;
Exulting in triumph, now swell the bold notes
In en- air tren, billing the wild music floats.
Till by degrees, remote and small
The strains decay
And melt away
In dying, dying fall"
In these heavenly raptures hours roll
away more swiftly than seconds. Yes,
the last beams of day are family stream.
ing through the painted windows in the
high vault above me. Already the effl-
>pies and tombs are being lost in the twi-
light. So slowly retracing my morning
walk / passed out Of this dolesome man.
sion of the darkness feeling that had a
glimpse of the pure and sweet delight OF
the abode of heroes. Not thinking my
daily labor DER I took advantage of time
and distance and strolled along the
Thames in the direction of London Tower,
where hoped to add few more notes
from the distant past to the now con-
Guiding day. When I reached the London
Bridge, however, I found it was already
too late, 80 contented myself with lean.
ing upon the edge of the old structure
endeavoripg to form some (arrangement)
idea In my mind of the objects I had
been contemplating during the day in
the Abbey. As I stood here lost in SOL
emn thought, at times listening to the
troubled waters of that dark winding
stream running on to meet the sea, now
piercing into the distance 1 got one last
look OF the gloomy Abbey. Thought I
to myself, never had the vanities of life
been SO clearly proven to me, or so loftily
COMPOUNDED. Yes, I came to this con-
clusion as I took in the entire scene. and
especially the old grim Tower of London
whose deathly dungeons we're now be-
ing lit up by low, full moon. That life
is but dream, health but name, glory
but phantom, accomplishments and
pleasures but dangerous amusemente, all
in fact is vain to US except the sincere
love of God, and the settled judgments
which make US deepise ourselves. Thus
do mortais pass away like flowers which
bloom in the morning and wither and
are trodden under foot in the evening.
Yes, the generations Of men roll away
like the waves of the rapid river; nothing
in fact can stop the tide Of time which
draws after it everything which seems
the most immovable, and we ourselves
must remember that the gay season
which we are now enjoying is but q flower
which will wither almost as soon as it is
blown. The smiling graces and the
sweet pleasures which now stteni us
strength, health, JOY, all / say viii van
ish like dream, and nothing but re-
gretful remembrance will remain.
JOHN +. GLEASON,
st. Paul Seminary.