Purgatory, Mary Anne Madden Sadlier [books to get back into reading .txt] 📗

- Ave Maria , November 10, 1883.


THE STORY OF THE FAITHFUL SOUL.

Founded on an old French Legend .

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.

The fettered spirits linger In purgatorial pain,
With penal fires effacing
Their last faint earthly stain,
Which Life's imperfect sorrow
Had tried to cleanse in vain.

Yet, on each feast of Mary
Their sorrow finds release,
For the great Archangel Michael
Comes down and bids it cease;
And the name of these brief respites
Is called "Our Lady's Peace."

Yet once - so runs the legend -
When the Archangel came,
And all these holy spirits
Rejoiced at Mary's name,
One voice alone was wailing,
Still wailing on the same.

And though a great Te Deum
The happy echoes woke, I
This one discordant wailing
Through the sweet voices broke:
So when St. Michael questioned,
Thus the poor spirit spoke: -

I am not cold or thankless,
Although I still complain;
I prize Our Lady's blessing,
Although it comes in vain
To still my bitter anguish,
Or quench my ceaseless pain.

"On earth a heart that loved me
Still lives and mourns me there,
And the shadow of his anguish
Is more than I can bear;
All the torment that I suffer
Is the thought of his despair.

"The evening of my bridal
Death took my Life away;
Not all Love's passionate pleading
Could gain an hour's delay.
And he I left has suffered
A whole year since that day.

"If I could only see him -
If I could only go
And speak one word of comfort
And solace - then, I know
He would endure with patience,
And strive against his woe."

Thus the Archangel answered:
"Your time of pain is brief,
And soon the peace of Heaven
Will give you full relief;
Yet if his earthly comfort
So much outweighs your grief,

"Then, through a special mercy,
I offer you this grace -
You may seek him who mourns you
And look upon his face,
And speak to him of Comfort,
For one short minute's space.

"But when that time is ended,
Return here and remain
A thousand years in torment,
A thousand years in pain;
Thus dearly must you purchase
The comfort he will gain."

The lime-trees shade at evening
Is spreading broad and wide;
Beneath their fragrant arches
Pace slowly, side by side,
In low and tender converse,
A Bridegroom and his Bride.

The night is calm and stilly,
No other sound is there
Except their happy voices: -
What is that cold bleak air
That passes through the lime-trees,
And stirs the Bridegroom's hair?

While one low cry of anguish,
Like the last dying wail
Of some dumb, hunted creature,
Is borne upon the gale -
Why dogs the Bridegroom shudder

And turn so deathly pale?

Near Purgatory's entrance
The radiant Angels wait;
It was the great St. Michael
Who closed that gloomy gate,
When the poor wandering spirit
Came back to meet her fate.

"Pass on," thus spoke the Angel:
"Heaven's joy is deep and vast;
Pass on, pass on, poor spirit,
For Heaven is yours at last;
In that one minute's anguish,
Your thousand years have passed."


GENÉRADE, THE FRIEND OF ST. AUGUSTINE.

J. COLLIN DE PLANCY.

ST. AUGUSTINE reckoned among his friends the physician Genérade, highly honored in Carthage, where his learning and skill were much esteemed. But by one of those misfortunes of which there are, unhappily, but too many examples, while studying the admirable mechanism of the human body, he had come to believe matter capable of the works of intelligence which raise man so far above other created beings. He was, therefore, a materialist; and St. Augustine praying for him, earnestly besought God to enlighten that deluded mind.

One night while he slept, this doctor, who believed, as some do still, that "when one is dead, all is dead" - we quote their own language - saw in his dreams a young man, who said to him: "Follow me." He did so, and was conducted to a city, wherein he heard, on the right, unknown melodies, which filled him with admiration. What he heard on the left he never remembered. But on awaking he concluded, from this vision, that there was, somewhere, something else besides this world.

Another night he likewise beheld in sleep the same young man, who said to him:

"Knowest thou me?"

"Very well," answered Genérade.

"And wherefore knowest thou me?"

"Because of the journey we made together when you showed me the city of harmony."

"Was it in a dream, or awake, that you saw and heard what struck you then?"

"It was in a dream."

"Where is your body now?"

"In my bed."

"Knowest thou well that thou now seest nothing with the eyes of the body?"

"I know it."

"With what eyes, then, dost thou see me?"

As the physician hesitated, and could not answer, the young man said to him:

"Even as thou seest and hearest me, now that thine eyes are closed and thy senses benumbed, so, after thy death, thou shalt live, thou shalt see, thou shalt hear - but with the organs of the soul. Doubt, then, no more!"


ST. THOMAS AQUINAS AND FRIAR ROMANUS.

WE are about to treat of facts concerning which our fathers never had any hesitation, because they had faith. Nowadays, the truths which are above the material sight have been so roughly handled that they are much diminished for us. And if the goodness of God had not allowed some rays of the mysteries which He reserves for Himself to escape, if some gleams of magnetism and the world of spirits occupying the air around us had not a little embarrassed those of our literati who make a merit of not believing, we would hardly dare, in spite of the grave authorities on which they rest, to represent here some apparitions of souls departed from this world. We shall venture to do so, nevertheless.

One day, when St. Thomas Aquinas was praying in the Church of the Friars, Preachers, at Naples, the pious friar Romanus, whom he had left in Paris, where he replaced him in the chair of Theology, suddenly appeared beside him. Thomas, seeing him, said:

"I am glad of thine arrival. But how long hast thou been here?"

Romanus answered: "I am now out of this world. Nevertheless, I am permitted to come to thee, because of thy merit."

The Saint, alarmed at this reply, after a moment's recollection, said to the apparition: "I adjure thee, by Our Lord Jesus Christ, tell me simply if my works are pleasing to God!"

Romanus replied: "Persevere in the way in which thou art, and believe that what thou doest is agreeable unto God."

Thomas then asked him in what state he found himself.

"I enjoy eternal life," answered Romanus. "Nevertheless, for having carelessly executed one clause of a will which the Bishop of Paris gave me in charge, I underwent for fifteen days the pains of Purgatory."

St. Thomas again said: "You remind me that we often discussed the question whether the knowledge acquired in this life remain in the soul after death. I pray you give me the solution thereof."

Romanus made answer: "Ask me not that. As for me, I am content with seeing my God."

"Seest thou him face to face?" went on Thomas.

"Just as we have been taught," replied Romanus, "and as I see thee."

With these words he left St. Thomas greatly consoled.


THE KEY THAT NEVER TURNS.

ELEANOR C. DONNELLY.

"In Purgatory, dear," I said to-day, Unto my pet, "the fire burns and burns, Until each ugly stain is burned away - And then an Angel turns A great, bright key, and forth the glad soul springs Into the presence of the King of kings."

"But in that other prison?" "Sweetest love! The same fierce fire burns and burns, but thence None e'er escapes." The blue eyes, raised above, Were fair with innocence. "Poor burning souls!" she whispered low, "ah me! No Angel ever comes to turn their key!"


THE BURIAL.

THOMAS DAVIS.

"ULULU! ululu! wail for the dead,
Green grow the grass of
Fingal on his head;
And spring-flowers blossom, ere elsewhere appearing,
And shamrocks grow thick on the martyr for Erin.
Ululu! ululu! soft fall the dew
On the feet and the head of the martyred and true."

For a while they tread
In silence dread -
Then muttering and moaning go the crowd,
Surging and swaying like mountain cloud,
And again the wail comes wild and loud.

"Ululu! ululu! kind was his heart!
Walk slower, walk slower, too soon we shall part.
The faithful and pious, the
Priest of the Lord,
His pilgrimage over, he has his reward.

"By the bed of the sick, lowly kneeling,
To God with the raised cross appealing -
He seems still to kneel, and he seems still to pray,
And the sins of the dying seem passing away.

"In the prisoner's cell, and the cabin so dreary,
Our constant consoler, he never grew weary;
But he's gone to his rest,
And he's now with the blest,
Where tyrant and traitor no longer molest -
Ululu! ululu! wail for the dead!
Ululu! ululu! here is his bed."

Short was the ritual, simple the prayer,
Deep was the silence, and every head bare;
The Priest alone standing, they knelt all around,
Myriads on myriads, like rocks on the ground.
Kneeling and motionless. -
"Dust unto dust."

"He died as becometh the faithful and just -
Placing in God his reliance and trust;"

Kneeling and motionless -
"Ashes to ashes" -
Hollow the clay on the coffin-lid dashes;
Kneeling and motionless, wildly they pray,
But they pray in their souls, for no gesture have they -
Stern and standing - oh! look on them now!
Like trees to one tempest the multitude bow.