el, in every little niche, and at every shrine,
tapers were burning like fireflies in a summer twilight. At the foot of
the large crucifix, which occupied a somewhat shadowy corner, lay a
wreath of magnificent crimson roses. It would seem as though some high
festival were about to be celebrated, and I gazed around me with a
beating heart, half expecting some invisible touch to awaken the notes
of the organ and a chorus of spirit-voices to respond with the "Gloria
in excelsis Deo!" But there was silence--absolute, beautiful, restful
silence. I strove to collect my thoughts, and turning my eyes towards
the jewelled cross that surmounted the high altar, I clasped my hands,
and began to wonder how and for what I should pray. Suddenly the idea
struck me that surely it was selfish to ask Heaven for anything; would
it not be better to reflect on all that had already been given to me,
and to offer up thanks? Scarcely had this thought entered my mind when
a sort of overwhelming sense of unworthiness came over me. Had I ever
been unhappy? I wondered. If so, why? I began to count up my blessings
and compare them with my misfortunes. Exhausted pleasure-seekers may be
surprised to hear that I proved the joys of my life to have far
exceeded my sorrows. I found that I had sight, hearing, youth, sound
limbs, an appreciation of the beautiful in art and nature, and an
intense power of enjoyment. For all these things, impossible of
purchase by mere wealth, should I not give thanks? For every golden ray
of sunshine, for every flower that blooms, for the harmonies of the
wind and sea, for the singing of birds and the shadows of trees, should
I not--should we not all give thanks? For is there any human sorrow so
great that the blessing of mere daylight on the earth does not far
exceed? We mortals are spoilt and petted children--the more gifts we
have the more we crave; and when we burn or wound ourselves by our own
obstinacy or carelessness, we are ungratefully prone to blame the
Supreme Benefactor for our own faults. We don black mourning robes as a
sort of sombre protest against Him for having removed some special
object of our choice and love, whereas, if we believed in Him and were
grateful to Him, we should wear dazzling white in sign of rejoicing
that our treasure is safe in the land of perfect joy where we ourselves
desire to be. Do we suffer from illness, loss of money, position, or
friends, we rail against Fate--another name for God--