Their hearts the living God have ceased to know, His glow of health to paint the livid cheek; That with a seeming heart their tongue may speak: And in their show of life more dead they live Than those that to the earth with many tears they give. MAN IN HARMONY WITH NATURE HE flowers I pass have eyes that look at me, THE The birds have ears that hear my spirit's voice, And I am glad the leaping brook to see, Because it does at my light step rejoice. Come, brothers all, who tread the grassy hill, Or wander thoughtless o'er the blooming fields, Come, learn the sweet obedience of the will; Then every sight and sound new pleasure yields. Nature shall seem another house of thine, When he who formed thee bids it live and play: And in thy rambles e'en the creeping vine Shall keep with thee a jocund holiday; And every plant and bird and insect be THE THE GIANTS HE giants, they who walked the earth of old, To dash to earth your idols in disgrace; Nor wounded can their eyes your sufferings know. As from the heights they dart upon their prey, I THE HUMMING-BIRD CANNOT heal thy green-gold breast, Where deep those cruel teeth have prest; For thy return in vain shall wait Thy tender young, thy fond, fond mate, Unknown, alas! thy cruel fate, Unheard thy cries! THER THE BUILDERS HERE are who wish to build their houses strong, And one, who thought him wiser than the rest, Praised his secure retreat from tempest loud. But one I knew who sought him out no wood, No brick, no stone, though as the others born; And those who passed where waiting still he stood, Made light of him and laughed his hopes to scorn. And time went by, and he was waiting still; No house had he, and seemed to need one less: He felt that waiting yet his Master's will Was the best shelter in this wilderness. And I beheld the rich man and the wise, When lapsing years fell heavy on each shed, I BEAUTY GAZED upon thy face,- and beating life Once stilled its sleepless pulses in my breast, Each in its silent chamber sank to rest. I was not, save it were a thought of thee; The world was but a spot where thou hadst trod; Than that in which my spirit lived before. Earth wears a lovelier robe than then it wore; THE PRAYER WILT Thou not visit me? The plant beside me feels thy gentle dew, And every blade of grass I see From thy deep earth its quickening moisture drew. Wilt Thou not visit me? Thy morning calls on me with cheering tone; Lend but one voice,-the voice of Thee alone. Come, for I need thy love More than the flower the dew, or grass the rain; And let me in thy sight rejoice to live again. I will not hide from them When thy storms come, though fierce may be their wrath, And strengthened follow on thy chosen path. Yes, Thou wilt visit me: Nor plant nor tree thine eye delights so well, LOUIS VEUILLOT (1813-1883) BY FRÉDÉRIC LOLIÉE OUIS VEUILLOT, the celebrated Catholic journalist, was born at Boynes in the Department of Loiret, in 1813. He was a son of the people. The accident of his humble birth and popular education aided rather than hampered the free development of his innate literary talent. He entered upon journalism almost without preparation, still very uncertain of his own tendencies, and seeking a personal conviction while battling against others. His early début dates from 1831, when he was eighteen years old. In 1838 he went to Rome. A witness of the pomps of Holy Week in the metropolis of Catholicism, he was profoundly impressed by it. He was touched, he believed; and vowed to himself to have henceforth but one aim in life, that of unmasking and stigmatizing the enemies of religion. Soon after, he became editor-in-chief of L'Univers, the official sheet of "ultramontanism." With inequalities of talent, sometimes doubtful taste, and excesses of language, inherent in his profession as a polemist as in his natural disposition, he possessed a vigorous, fruitful fancy, and originality of touch. Both friends and enemies were soon forced to recognize in Louis Veuillot an exceptional journalist, powerful in his treatment of important subjects, sparkling with wit and malice in articles written for special occasions. LOUIS VEUILLOT The whole life of the great polemist was one struggle in defense of religious interests, as he understood them; that is, in a way not always conformed to Christian charity, or even to the spirit of purely human justice. For thirty years, always armed, always ready to roll in the dust whoever tried to bar his way, he used Catholicism as a flag under the folds of which he led to combat not only the ardors of a sincere faith, but also his own passions, his personal enthusiasms, and his intellectual hatreds. (I say intellectual hatreds because he knew no others; and it is said, showed himself in his private relations the most conciliating of men.) |