The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1915-09-11
.,s1s ~sSx1o IIQN1q, 49,
IDocffiNAE. IfTORdicaL.l


i
! titled with just as much care, the
woods rolling down the gentle slopes
to the green meadows have come
upon something by the roadside which
has reminded me that;I am not in
Loamshire: an image of a great
agony--the Agony of the Cross. 1t
has stood, perhaps, by the clustering
apple-trees, or in the broad sunshine
by the cornfield, or at the turning by
the wood where a clear brook was
-gurgling below; and surely, if there
came traveller to this world who
knew nothing of the story of mans
life upon it, this image of agony
would seem to him strangely out of
! place in the midst of this joyous
Nature. He would not know that
hidden behind the apple-blossoms, or
among the golden corn, or under the
shrouding boughs of the wood, there
might be a human heart beating
heavily with anguish"
y Another modern novelist has said
very justly: "All the beauties and all
the wonders of the world make but a
blurred picture to eyes that look
through the lens of tears" Indeed,
in hours of real aTliction, our sorrow
is only accentuated by the contrast
between the corroding care within
and the tranquil beauty of the out
ward world, in it's seasons of repose
We are all more or less victims of
what Ruskin calls the pathetic fall
lacy" the belief, that is, that Nature
should sympathise with our inward
moods, mourning with the mournful
and rejoicing with the glad of heart.
But it does not Rarely has there
been more beautiful Autumn than in
4 1914, when some of the fairest por.
tons of Europe were being converted
into shambles. During the Battle of
the Rivers an English officer wrote
that his regiment was operating in
the midst OLA glorious landscape, and
that in the lovely woods around the
birds were singing, undisturbed by
the roar of the guns. More terrible
irony could not well be imagined. The
howitzers could annihilate regiments
of strong men but could not silence
the tiny linnet!
Even in September, then, our eyes
may be forced to- gaze upon the
Autumn woods through "the lens of
tears" And this September how
many millions of eyes shall be al
most too scared by tears of hopeless
anguish even to notice the deepening
yellow of the forest, the richer pur-
/, pie on the hills Besides, our enjoy
ment of Autumn, at best, is always
: sobered by an underlying hint of sad
ness. 1t is glorious no doubt, but its
glory is like the final strains of some
high symphony that reaches its
climax at the close. Not so uniting
ly then do we think of our dear Moth
er's sorrows, those seven great and
solemn moments in her earthly @pil
grimage, in which she was privileged
!, to share in that chalice of affliction
: which we all, in more or less degree
are forced to taste, and which hei
Divine Son was to drain to the bitter
: lees. She could hardly have beer
Mother of our suffering Cod with
. out part in His sorrow, and could
|, never have become the CONSIDER o.
the Afflicted, the Mother of oul
L anguish-stricken race, with comfor
and healing for the hearts deepes
, and most terrible suffering, if she haI
been exempt from the common doom
But, so far from being exempt, sht
I. had the special privilege of pre-emi
r. nence in sorrow. Her Dolours ap
4 ] proximated more than those of an.
other creature to the unfathomablt
X suffering of her Son, and it is as Nate
: Dolorosa she wins her way mos
q directly to the general heart of Chris
q tendon. Above all, when the chalics
. of affliction or bereavement is pressed
r to our lips, and we must drink i
= whether we will or not is then tina
# the contemplation of her Dolours
q enables us to whisper Fiat, ant
strengthens us to stand upright undei
the shadow of the heaviest cross. i
s. is then that we get keener insight
n: into the meaning of the mystery Of
pain. An intolerable heartache, thai
e would otherwise wreck reason, il
v softened into Christian resignation BY
e the reflection that God surely gave
S His most precious gift to her whom
$ He called Mother, and that gift was 9
n diadem of thorns. And if, in spite Of
such reflections, the smouldering fires
of revolt will flare up in the tortured
breast, and patience and resignation
I seem too much for our sorely tried
hearts. let us turn to her in fervent
prayer and beg of her to obtain grace
for us to bear our dolours as she bore
g hers. We shall thus make them, as
! she made hers, the source of meal
r culable blessings, of immeasurable
$ merit and unending reward.