The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1918-03-09
"ouR FATHER"

and broke his spine. They carried
him home and laid his On his bed
He was one Of these wild youngsters,
brimfui of strength and life, but now
he is sick unto death. His father,
helpless, sad and depressed, is sitting
beside his bed. The poor boy is al
most beside himself with pain and
agony, he is so unused to suffer be-
cause he never had a pain in his
young life. He looks up into his
fathers fearful eyes, imploring for
help, Father, help me-, o help!" With
a deep mournful sigh the father an
sWerS from the depths of his paternal
heart, MY dear boy, if only couId!,,
The pain grew apace with all it's in
tensity, and finally death came to
throttle him. This was the end of a
boys existence. Next day the under
taker came with a plain coffin; they
laid the body into it, and sprinkled
holy water upon the remains; then
amid some mournful hymns they car
r1ed the coffin to the churchyard and
lowered it into the grave. L am not
sure whether the cross that marked
the spot is still 10 be seen, because
all this happened some years ago. His
body it still there, but where his soul
went, l don't really know May the
Lord give him eternal rest and may
he rise to a glorious resurrection.
May | ask you to remember him with
an occasional Our Father?
[ would have you sit quietly in
thought beside the father at the dying
boys bedside. But for fear that you
might think too much, or not nearly
enough, and lest you become confused
and lost in your musings, L will ask
you to follow my lead.
The same incident may not happen
to you, but some day you most likely
will be lying on your deathbed, too:
death will be kneeling on your chest,
pressing life's breath out of you in
heavy groans and deep heavings; for
fear of the things that are to come,
cold pearls OF sweat will battle your
brow and trickle down upon your
cheek; and worst of all, you will be
utterly helpless. You would like to
call on father or mother or anybody
else at your bedside for help. But
alas all they can do is to give you a
little strengthening broth, or some old
wine and mop the heaEy sweat from
yeur face and forehead; they will
ease You by gently lifting your aching
head little higher and they may pray
aloud. Finally they will light a can
die and put a crucifX into your cold
hands; your nearest and dearest rela-
t1VeS can hold back no longer; they
are weeping and sobbing aloud; but
help you they cannot; they would glad
ly offer you their last drop of blood,
but there is not USE A strange noise
begins to buzz in your ears; the voices
of those around you grow indistinct
and sound as though they came from
afar; death hangs a black veil over
your eyes, daylight is vanishing and
finally all is dark; hands and feet are
growing cold and clammy-how do
you think that you will feel then, when
these doings will be yours; when you
are gradually being cut off from the
visible world and those to whom you
will turn for help? Naturally, one would
like to have near him then, a father
who really has the power as well as
the good will to help. A kind of a
surgeon who actually knows how to
handle disease and pain; one who is
extremely skillful with the knife and
the lance. He would have to know,
too, how to reach the soul; one that
could brush away the cobwebs of de-
SPAR and fear and Danish those ter
rible temptations which the Evil
One whispers into our ears. Besides
his power and knowledge would have
to extend beyond the grave, over into
another world; one that could give
us a lodging, board and light, and all
else we might need. He needs must
Ehave a piercing eye, and exceedingly
fine hearing, and an extremely good
heart SO that he would know and see
and hear what is needed. hear what
| the soul asks for and yearns after
| when the tongue is too weak to utter
a sound. Such a wonderful surgeon
this is the kind of father, would be
a priceless treasure. Do you know one
of this stamp?
1t is hardly necessary to tell yor
that you die but once and this hour
of death when it does come, you'll
have to experience yourself Besides
this tremendous hour, there are Other
hours in life that are not. always sky
blue; nor have they all the sweet
aroma of rosemary leaves and laven
der. Many are hit very nard, and life
has a bitter face for many more. Sc
that folks are sometimes tempted tt
glide off the thorny path very alb
asruptly; soTn8sfeel like divorci1g them
selves from life, as some men do from
a cranky wife, if only the Almighty
lhad nothing against such, proceedings
II The Echo. 3,
The aim for which we giyesour sbes
hstrength is everything, the.visible sue
/ cess is nothing. True faith NAV be