men who bear their yoke and utter never a word of complaint; on them
sorrow falls like a pure soft snow that leaves no stain.

Of late, the nations of the world have been thrilled by the deeds of
one humble man who embraced Sorrow and let her claim him for the best
part of his life. I cannot bear to think much of the tragedy of
Damien's life--and I shall not dream of endeavouring to find excuses,
or of declaring that life an essentially happy one. The good Father
chose Grief and clave to her as a bride; he chose the sights and
sounds of grief as his surroundings and he wrought on silently under
his fearful burden of holy sorrow until the release was given. He
spoke no boastful words of contentment save when he thought of the
rest that was coming for him; he gallantly accepted the crudest and
foulest conditions of his dreadful environment, and he uttered no
craving for sympathy, no wish for personal aid. If we think of that
immortal priest's choice, we understand, perhaps for the first time,
what the religion of Sorrow truly means. On the lonely rock the meek,
strong soul spent its forces; joy, friendly faces, laughter of sweet
children, healthy and kindly companions--there were none of these. The
sea moaned round with many voices, and the sky bent over the lonely
disciple; the melancholy of the sea, the melancholy of the changeless
sky, the monotony of silence, must all have weighed on his heart. In
the daytime there were only sights whereat strong men might swoon
away--pain, pain, pain all round, and every complication of horror;
but the Child of Sorrow bore all. Then came the sentence of death. For
ten weary years the hero had to wait in loneliness while the Destroyer
slowly enfolded him in its arms. We pity the monster who dies a swift
death after his life of wickedness has been forfeited; we are vexed if
a criminal endures one minute of suffering; but the noble one on that
sad isle watched his doom coming for ten years, and never flinched
from his task during that harrowing time. It makes the heart grow
chill, despite the pride we feel in our lost brother. The religion of
Sorrow has indeed conquered; and Father Damien has set the seal to its
triumph.

But around us there are others who have composedly accepted sorrow as
their portion. We have, it may be, felt so much joy in living, we have
been so pierced through and through in every nerve and every faculty
of the mind with pure rapture during our pilgrimage, that