The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1911-11-11
Number As

sandS 9 Ste to quaff of the living wa
ters = !Sruth, that flowed from these
hol $ us into the lives and hearts of
tn SSerations that are gone. Ten
d ,Sldeed are the memories that
swlS through the mind, as gazing on
these lofty piles there is recalled the
days when England was our Blessed
Lady's Dowry, and Ireland-beloved Of
the heart-the land of saints and
scholars. Here through these old fanes
the winds of heaven blow, and the sun
light streams down on broken arch and
lofty dome. Here the gentle-souled
Franciscan and the sanity Benedictine
chanted the sweet psalmodies of the
divine office-that incense of holy
prayer, waited to the throne of God.
In those olden days the abbeys were
the worlds workshops of literary
learning and profound scholarship, of
scientific research, Of historical and
archaeological lore. 1t was the golden
age of education, when the torch of
knowledge was kept brightly burning,
and the great universities of Catholic
Europe were thronged with students.
1t was an age of music, when the old
masters composed their soul-inspired
melodies, those sublime conceptions
that through the centuries have held
the world enthralled with their ex-
quisite and enhancing beauty. It was
an age of architecture when the
Gothic cathedrals-chaste monuments
of classic art-were erected, to be fol-
lowed. by the Byzantine, Corinthian
and Greek models, truly work of love
for the glory of God. The builders of
the old abbey churches seem to have
been heaven-inspired, for in them they
put all that was beautiful in outline
and delicate in tracery, uniting and
blending in one harmonious whole.
These old piles are fast crumbling to
ruin, yet they speak eloquently of the
ages of faith, and the holy purposes for
which they were erected. They are
the landmarks of time when the
world was Catholic, when faith and
piety, and loyalty to God and country,
were the characteristics of the age.
Around them all the holiest and ten
derest memories cling, for at the altar
of the Most High, the Infinite Lamb
of God came down from Heaven at the
conservation, to dwell in an humble
tabernacle made by hands. Here be-
meath the soil sleep in peace the holy
dead, who once trod these sacred cor
ridors to honor and worship their
Creator. Back in the dim and dusk
of the centuries to the amphitheater
and the lions, to the catacombs and
the charnal house, their fathers in the
faith suffered and died. And back
again, through the twilight of the
years to Calvary and Golgotha, the Sc
cret of it all lies there-the Lord and
Master hanging upon the Cross. The
trailing ivy covers the old ruined tenn
pies; the venerable yew trees cast
their shade over the sacred ground; in
the caves of roof and belfry the
birds have built their nests; arch and
wall and dome still stand, mute wit
nesses of the havoc wrought in past.
ages. The gentle rain and the warm
sunshine, the cool wind and the storm
pour down upon these venerable ab-
beys Yet, their grandeur and majesty
fills the soul with unspeakable joy, for,
they represent all that is great and
glorious in the annals of Christian
faith, like unto the old mission church.
es here on these western shores Of
America. -