erhood he
spread the earth which had drunk the blood of the martyrs, so that the
bodies of those who died in the Lord might await His coming in a
blessed peace.

Now it happened that but a few days after his return the friend of his
boyhood, a holy brother who had long shared with him the companionship
of the cloister, migrated from this light, and when the last requiem
had been sung and the sacred earth had covered in the dead, the Saint
wept bitterly for the sake of the lost love and the unforgotten years.

And at night he fell asleep, still weeping for sorrow. And in his
sleep he saw, as in a dream, the grey stone church with its round tower
and the graveyard sheltered by the woody hills; but behold! in the
graveyard tall trees sprang in lofty spires from the earth of Rome, and
reached into the highest heavens; and these trees were like trees of
green and golden and ruddy fire, for they were red with the blossoms of
life, and every green leaf quivered with bliss, like a green flame; and
among the trees, on a grassy sod at their feet, sat a white lark,
singing clear and loud, and he knew that the lark was the soul of the
friend of his boyhood.

As he listened to its song, he understood its unearthly music; and
these were the words of its singing: "Do not weep any more for me; it
is pity for thy sorrow which keeps me here on the grass. If thou wert
not so unhappy I should fly."

And when the Saint awoke his grief had fallen from him, and he wept no
more for the dead man whom he loved.

The Hermit of the Pillar

On one of the hills near the city of Ancyra Basil the hermit stood day
and night on a pillar of stone forty feet high, praying and weeping for
his own sins and for the sins of the world.

A gaunt, dark figure, far up in the blue Asian sky, he stood there for
a sign and a warning to all men that our earthly life is short, whether
for wickedness or repentance; that the gladness and the splendour of
the world are but a fleeting pageant; that in but a little while the
nations should tremble before the coming of the Lord in His power and
majesty. Little heed did the rich and dissolute people of that city
give to his cry of doom; and of the vast crowds who came about the foot
of his pillar, the greater number thought but to gaze on the wonder of
a day, though some few did pitch their tents hard by, and spent the
time of their sojourn in prayer and the lamentation of hearts humbled
and contrite.

[I