gh that I did not change to a laugh;
never a wound that I did not heal; never a pain that I did not soothe;
nor a care I did not lighten. Where the sick were found, I visited
them; where the poor were, I bought them bread. Out on the plains and
in the desert I lifted the Cross of Hope and the Chalice of Salvation.
To the dying I sped the Minister of Pardon. Into the darkness and the
shadow of death I sent the Light of love and hope and truth, till,
rich in the deeds of mercy I did in my master's name, I felt the call
to another deathbed--his own. I saw my companions flying from the
bounds of the great earth to answer the call. They knew he needed them
now with the rich interest of good deeds they had won for him. Fast
they came and the multitude of them filled him with wonder. The enemy
who hated him pointed to them in derision. "Gold buys hell, not
heaven," he laughed, but we stood around the bed and the enemy could
not pass us. Then we, and deeds we did for him at his command, began
to pray and the prayer was like sweetest music echoing against the
very vault of heaven; and other sounds, like the gentle tones of
harps, were wafted over us, swelling louder and louder till all seemed
changed to a thousand organs, with every stop attuned to the praying.
They were the voices of the children from parts and regions where we
had lifted the Cross. One by one they joined the mighty music till on
the wings of the melody the master was borne aloft, higher and higher
as new voices coming added of their strength. I watched till he was
far above and still rising to heights beyond the ken of dreams.

An Angel touched me.

"Be thou clean," he said, "and go, I charge thee, to thy work. Thy
master is not dead, but only begins his joy. While time is, thou shalt
work for him and thy deeds of good shall be his own. Wherever thou
shalt go let the Cross arise that, under its shadow, the children may
gather and the song find new strength and new volume to lift him
nearer and nearer the Throne."

So I am happy that I have learned my real power; that I can do what
alone is worth doing--for His sake.

LE BRAILLARD DE LA MAGDELEINE[1]

This is the story that the old sailor from Tadousac told me when the
waves were leaping, snapping, and frothing at us from the St.
Lawrence, and over the moan of the wind and the anger of the waters
rose the wail of the Braillard de la Magdeleine.

"You hear him? Every storm he calls so loud. I thin