There came a youth upon the earth,Some thousand years ago,Whose slender hands were nothing worth,Whether to plow, or reap, or sow.Upon an empty tortoise shellHe stretched some chords, and drewMusic that made men’s bosoms swellFearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew.Then King Admetus, one who hadPure taste by right divine,Decreed his singing not too badTo hear between the cups of wine.And so, well pleased with being soothedInto a sweet half-sleep,Three times his kingly beard he smoothed,And made him viceroy o’er his sheep.His words were simple words enough,And yet he used them so,That what in other mouths was roughIn his seemed musical and low.Men called him but a shiftless youthIn whom no good they saw;And yet, unwittingly, in truth,They made his careless words their law.They knew not how he learned at all,For idly, hour by hour,He sat and watched the dead leaves fall,Or mused upon a common flower.It seemed the loveliness of thingsDid teach him all their use,For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs,He found a healing power profuse.Men granted that his speech was wise,But, when a glance they caughtOf his slim grace and woman’s eyes,They laughed, and called him good-for-naught.Yet after he was dead and gone,And e’en his memory dim,Earth seemed more sweet to live upon,More full of love, because of him.—James Russell Lowell.
There came a youth upon the earth,Some thousand years ago,Whose slender hands were nothing worth,Whether to plow, or reap, or sow.Upon an empty tortoise shellHe stretched some chords, and drewMusic that made men’s bosoms swellFearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew.Then King Admetus, one who hadPure taste by right divine,Decreed his singing not too badTo hear between the cups of wine.And so, well pleased with being soothedInto a sweet half-sleep,Three times his kingly beard he smoothed,And made him viceroy o’er his sheep.His words were simple words enough,And yet he used them so,That what in other mouths was roughIn his seemed musical and low.Men called him but a shiftless youthIn whom no good they saw;And yet, unwittingly, in truth,They made his careless words their law.They knew not how he learned at all,For idly, hour by hour,He sat and watched the dead leaves fall,Or mused upon a common flower.It seemed the loveliness of thingsDid teach him all their use,For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs,He found a healing power profuse.Men granted that his speech was wise,But, when a glance they caughtOf his slim grace and woman’s eyes,They laughed, and called him good-for-naught.Yet after he was dead and gone,And e’en his memory dim,Earth seemed more sweet to live upon,More full of love, because of him.—James Russell Lowell.
There came a youth upon the earth,Some thousand years ago,Whose slender hands were nothing worth,Whether to plow, or reap, or sow.
There came a youth upon the earth,
Some thousand years ago,
Whose slender hands were nothing worth,
Whether to plow, or reap, or sow.
Upon an empty tortoise shellHe stretched some chords, and drewMusic that made men’s bosoms swellFearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew.
Upon an empty tortoise shell
He stretched some chords, and drew
Music that made men’s bosoms swell
Fearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew.
Then King Admetus, one who hadPure taste by right divine,Decreed his singing not too badTo hear between the cups of wine.
Then King Admetus, one who had
Pure taste by right divine,
Decreed his singing not too bad
To hear between the cups of wine.
And so, well pleased with being soothedInto a sweet half-sleep,Three times his kingly beard he smoothed,And made him viceroy o’er his sheep.
And so, well pleased with being soothed
Into a sweet half-sleep,
Three times his kingly beard he smoothed,
And made him viceroy o’er his sheep.
His words were simple words enough,And yet he used them so,That what in other mouths was roughIn his seemed musical and low.
His words were simple words enough,
And yet he used them so,
That what in other mouths was rough
In his seemed musical and low.
Men called him but a shiftless youthIn whom no good they saw;And yet, unwittingly, in truth,They made his careless words their law.
Men called him but a shiftless youth
In whom no good they saw;
And yet, unwittingly, in truth,
They made his careless words their law.
They knew not how he learned at all,For idly, hour by hour,He sat and watched the dead leaves fall,Or mused upon a common flower.
They knew not how he learned at all,
For idly, hour by hour,
He sat and watched the dead leaves fall,
Or mused upon a common flower.
It seemed the loveliness of thingsDid teach him all their use,For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs,He found a healing power profuse.
It seemed the loveliness of things
Did teach him all their use,
For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs,
He found a healing power profuse.
Men granted that his speech was wise,But, when a glance they caughtOf his slim grace and woman’s eyes,They laughed, and called him good-for-naught.
Men granted that his speech was wise,
But, when a glance they caught
Of his slim grace and woman’s eyes,
They laughed, and called him good-for-naught.
Yet after he was dead and gone,And e’en his memory dim,Earth seemed more sweet to live upon,More full of love, because of him.
Yet after he was dead and gone,
And e’en his memory dim,
Earth seemed more sweet to live upon,
More full of love, because of him.
—James Russell Lowell.
One day a vast multitude follows our Blessed Lord up a mountain side. They come trooping after Him, men, women, and children; their homes, their business, all the cares of this life, by common consent left behind. Now He has stopped and turned round, facing them. He waits long and patiently as they come toiling up, guiding them with His hand to go here and there where they may hear Him best.
It is His first great Sermon that He is going to preach, this Sermon on the Mount, and it is not only for the numbers beyond all reckoning gathered together here, but for all that shall come into this world and have to be taught what they must do to save their souls. Therefore He would speak so solemnly and from such a lofty place. He sits down, and the Twelve come and stand around Him, or sit on the ground at His feet. The people press round as close as they can, and when all are seated and quiet He begins to speak.
What will the text of this great Preacher be? What is the thought uppermost in His mind and heart? This—to teach us what we must do to be happy. He knows that we are made for happiness, and that we long to be happy. But He knows, too, that very many try to find happiness in things that will not satisfy them, in the riches, pleasures, and honors of this world which can never content our hearts. And so He tells us in the beginning of His Sermon on the Mount who are really blessed or happy.
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.
“Blessed are the meek, for they shall possess the land.
“Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.
“Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after justice, for they shall have their fill.
“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.
“Blessed are the clean of heart, for they shall see God.
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.
“Blessed are they that suffer persecution for justice’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.”
Blessed the sufferers for whom Heaven is waiting! this is the text of the Sermon on the Mount.
The poor in spiritare those who, having little of the good things of this life, are content with what God has given them, and do not envy those who are better off. Those, too, who having a sufficiency or an abundance of the pleasant things of this world, do not let their hearts get too fond of them, are ready to give them up if God should take them away, and are generous in sharing them with those in need. To poor, such as these, our Lord promises all the riches of Heaven by and by.
The meekare those who have gained a mastery over anger and revengeful thoughts. They possess as conquerors three lands—the land of their own soul, which they control as lords and masters, the Land of Heaven, where nothing will trouble them any more, and, strangeto say, that very land in which they seemed to be overcome. For in the little difficulties and differences of daily life, it is those that yield who are really victors. How many conquests has meekness made!
The mournersare those who all their lives long have a quiet, loving sorrow for their sins—not as though they were unforgiven, but just because they are forgiven, because they have offended Him who forgives so readily and so often. Those, too, are blessed mourners who remember when sorrow comes that He who loves them only permits it for their good, and that in a very little while He will wipe away all tears from their eyes, and they shall be comforted, “nor mourning, nor crying, nor sorrow shall be any more.”
Who hunger and thirst after justice.The soul, like the body, has its hunger and thirst. Our Lord says those are blessed who take care to feed it with those things which keep it alive in the grace of God, with prayer, and instruction, and the Sacraments. Blessed are those who hunger after this spiritual food, who are always trying to get more and more of God’s grace, who go hungry to prayer, hungry to Confession and Communion. Almighty God says, “Open thy mouth and I will fill it.” And our Blessed Lady sings in her canticle, “He hath fed the hungry with good things.”It was because all the saints hungered like this that so much was given them.
The merciful.There is nothing our Lord tells us so often and so plainly as this—that to obtain mercy from God we must ourselves be merciful. If we wish Him to judge us kindly and to forgive our many faults, we must be forgiving and kind. “Be merciful,” He says, “as your Heavenly Father is merciful.” He tells us that at the Last Day He will say “Come” to those who have been merciful to others for His sake, and “Depart from Me” to those who have been unmerciful to the poor and needy, and therefore to Him. For what we do to His least brethren He counts as done to Himself. If, then, we want to hear His sweet invitation on that dreadful Day, we know how to secure it—“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.”
The clean of heart.The reward and the joy of the next life is to see God. There are many joys in Heaven—freedom from pain and care, the delights of the glorified body, the society of the Angels and Saints, reunion with those we loved on earth. But all these are as nothing compared with the Vision of God. It is this that makes Heaven what it is. Without this all the rest would not satisfy us. But to see the All Holy Godwe must be holy. In Heaven all are clothed with white robes, and the nearer the approach to the Great White Throne, the more dazzlingly white is the raiment. We must be getting ready to join that spotless throng. How? By taking as much pains to keep our soul free from stain as we do to prevent soiling our dress when we go along a miry road; by shunning with care all mortal sin and deliberate venial sin; by being careful in our examination of conscience, and often cleansing our soul in the Sacrament of Penance, and by frequent acts of contrition. If we do this we shall be among the clean of heart, and one day we shall see God.
The peacemakers.“Some there are who are neither at peace with themselves nor suffer others to be at peace. And some there are who keep themselves in peace and study to restore peace to others.” Gladness goes with these peacemakers; they turn aside little words and jokes that would give pain, and come among us like our Blessed Lord, whose favorite word of greeting was, “Peace be to you.” They are so like their Father who is in Heaven that they deserve to be called in a special way His children.
The persecuted.If our Lord had not told us these are blessed, should we ever have guessed it? To be persecuted seems such a terrible thing, and so indeed itis unless we can bring ourselves to think more of Him for whose sake we suffer than of the suffering itself. Perhaps we may have known the quiet happiness of being by the side of one we loved who was in pain. The thought that our presence and our sympathy soothed that dear one was greater joy than any pleasure to be found elsewhere. Something like this is the gladness those have even now who for our Lord’s sake are hated and persecuted. They know that if they are like Him in His suffering they will be like Him one day in His glory. Are they not blessed then?
And now let us stop awhile to look at our dear Master and His hearers. The Twelve are listening with reverent and fixed attention, their eyes riveted on His blessed face. The people gaze at Him in amazement and delight. They have been taught to hate their enemies, to seek revenge, to think that poverty and suffering are the signs of God’s anger, that an abundance of corn and wine and cattle are the rewards for which a good man must hope.
Their beatitudes would have been, “Blessed are the rich and the successful, those that laugh and are held in honor by men.” How unlike these to the blessed ones of Jesus of Nazareth! His way to happiness was a hard way, but they knew as they looked up into His face that it was the right way. And they felt that He could not only teach but help them. Had they known the story of His life as we do they would have seen that He had first practised all He taught. He was so poor that He had not where to lay His head. He was meek and humble of heart, the Man of sorrows, the great Peacemaker.
After the Sermon our Lord comes down from the Mount, conversing familiarly with His disciples, His simple congregation flocking after Him, trying to get near Him, all so refreshed by His company and His words. Hear them talking of Him among themselves, saying, “We never heard the like.”
Oh, if we had seen our Blessed Lord as these happy people saw Him, if we had followed Him about with the crowd, had sat at His feet as He taught, and watched Him as He laid His hands on the eyes of the blind and the sores of the poor lepers—how we should have loved Him!
—Mother Mary Loyola.
Oh say, can you see by the dawn’s early light,What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming—Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.Oh say, does that star-spangled banner yet waveO’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep,As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;’Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it waveO’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!And where is that band who so vauntingly swore’Mid the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion,A home and a country shall leave us no more?Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps’ pollution.No refuge could save the hireling and slave,From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave.And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth waveO’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.Oh, thus be it ever when freemen shall standBetween their loved homes and the war’s desolation;Blest with victr’y and peace, may the heaven-rescued land,Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,And this be our motto: “In God is our trust!”And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall waveO’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Oh say, can you see by the dawn’s early light,What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming—Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.Oh say, does that star-spangled banner yet waveO’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep,As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;’Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it waveO’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!And where is that band who so vauntingly swore’Mid the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion,A home and a country shall leave us no more?Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps’ pollution.No refuge could save the hireling and slave,From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave.And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth waveO’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.Oh, thus be it ever when freemen shall standBetween their loved homes and the war’s desolation;Blest with victr’y and peace, may the heaven-rescued land,Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,And this be our motto: “In God is our trust!”And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall waveO’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Oh say, can you see by the dawn’s early light,What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming—Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
Oh say, can you see by the dawn’s early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming—
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.Oh say, does that star-spangled banner yet waveO’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?
And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?
On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep,As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;’Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it waveO’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!
Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;
’Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave
O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore’Mid the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion,A home and a country shall leave us no more?Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps’ pollution.
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
’Mid the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion,
A home and a country shall leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps’ pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave,From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave.And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth waveO’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave,
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave.
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Oh, thus be it ever when freemen shall standBetween their loved homes and the war’s desolation;Blest with victr’y and peace, may the heaven-rescued land,Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Oh, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war’s desolation;
Blest with victr’y and peace, may the heaven-rescued land,
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,And this be our motto: “In God is our trust!”And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall waveO’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: “In God is our trust!”
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
About four hundred years ago there came to Spain an Italian sailor who believed that the earth is round. Such a belief may not seem at all strange to us, but to the people of that time it appeared to be very foolish and unreasonable. Almost everybody laughed at the Italian, and called him a silly fellow.
“Have you eyes?” they asked. “If so, you need only to open them and look about you to see that the earth is as flat as the top of a table.”
“You may think it is flat,” he answered, “and indeed it does appear to be so. But I know it is round; and if I had only a good ship or two, and some trusty sailors, I would prove it to you. I would sail westward across the great ocean, and in the end would reach the Indies and China, which must be on the other side of the great round world.”
“Who ever heard of such nonsense!” cried his learned critics. “Everybody knows that China and the Indies are in the far East, and that they can be reached only bya dangerous voyage through the Mediterranean Sea, and long journeys with camels across the great desert. Yet, here is Mr. Crack-brain, an Italian sailor, who says he can go to the East by sailing west. One might as well try to reach the moon by going down into a deep well.”
“But you don’t understand me,” answered the man whom they had called Mr. Crack-brain. “Here is an apple. Let us suppose that it is the earth. I stick a pin on this side, and call it Spain. On the other side I stick another pin, and call it the Indies. Now suppose a fly lights upon the apple at the point which I have called Spain. By turning to the right, or eastward, he can travel round to the Indies with but little trouble; or by turning to the left, or westward, he can reach the same place with just as much ease, and in really a shorter time. Do you see?”
“Do we see?” said his hearers. “Most certainly we see the apple, and we can imagine that we see the fly. It is very hard, however, to imagine that the earth is an apple, or anything like it. For, suppose that it were so: what would become of all the water in the seas and the great ocean? Why, it would run off at the blossom end of the apple, which you call the South Pole; and all the rocks and trees and men would follow it. Or, suppose that men could stick to the lower part of the earth as the fly does to the lower part of the apple—howvery silly it would be to think of them walking about with their heads hanging down!”
“And suppose,” said one of the doubters, who thought himself very wise,—“suppose that the earth is round, and suppose that the water should not spill off, and suppose you should sail to the other side, as you want to do, how are you to get back? Did anybody ever hear of a ship sailing uphill?”
And so, with sneering remarks, the wise men dismissed the whole subject. They said it was not worth while for them to spend their time in talking about such things. But the man whom they had called Mr. Crack-brain would not give up his theory. He was not the first man to believe that the earth is round—this he knew; but he hoped to be the first to prove it by sailing westward, and thus finally reaching the Indies, and the rich countries of the far East. And yet he had no ship, he was very poor, and the few friends whom he had were not able to give him any help.
“My only hope,” he said, “is to persuade the king and queen to furnish me with a ship.”
But how should an unknown Italian sailor make himself heard by the king and queen of the most powerful country in Europe?
The great men at the king’s court ridiculed him. “You had better buy a fisherman’s boat,” they said, “and try to make an honest living with your nets.Men of your kind have no business with kings. As to your crazy theory about the shape of the earth, only think of it! How dare you, the son of an Italian wool-comber, imagine that you know more about it than the wisest men in the world?”
But he did not despair. For years he followed the king’s court from place to place. Most people looked upon him as a kind of harmless lunatic who had gotten a single idea in his head and was unable to think of anything else. But there were a few good and wise men who listened to his theories, and after studying them carefully began to believe that there was some truth in them.
One of these men was Father Perez, the prior of the convent of La Rabida, and, to please this good prior, the queen at last sent for the sailor and asked him to tell her all about his strange theories and his plans for sailing west and reaching the East.
“You say that, if you had the vessels and the men, you would sail westward and discover new lands on the farther side of the great ocean,” said the queen. “What reasons have you for supposing that there are any such lands?”
“My first reason is that, since the earth is round like a ball, the countries of China and the Indies must lie in a westward direction and can, sooner or later, be reached by sailing across the sea,” was the answer.“You, yourself, have heard the story of St. Brandon, the Scottish priest, who, eight hundred years ago, was driven by a storm far across the ocean, and how at last he landed upon a strange and unknown shore. I doubt not but that this country was one of the outlying islands of the Indies, or perhaps the eastern shore of China.
“Not very long ago, Martin Vincent, a sea captain of Lisbon, ventured to go a distance of four hundred miles from land. There he picked up a piece of wood, with strange marks and carvings upon it, which had been drifted from the west by strong winds. Other seafaring men have found, far out in the ocean, reeds and light wood, such as travelers say are found in some parts of the Indies, but nowhere in Europe. And if any one should want more proofs than these, it would not be hard to find them. There is a story among the people of the far north which relates that, about five hundred years ago, some bold sea rovers from Iceland discovered a wild, wooded country many days’ sail to the westward. Indeed, it is said that these men tried to form a settlement there, and that they sent more than one shipload of grapes and timber back to Iceland. Now, it is very plain to me that this country of Vinland, as they called it, was no other than a part of the northern coast of China or Japan.”
It is not to be supposed that the queen cared whetherthe earth was round or flat; nor is it likely that her mind was ever troubled with questions of that kind. But she thought that if this man’s theories were true, and there were lands rich in gold and spices on the other side of the ocean, it would be a fine thing for the queen and king of Spain to possess them. The Italian sailor had studied his subject well, and he certainly knew what he was talking about. He had told his story so well that the queen was almost ready to believe that he was right. But she was very busy just then, in a war with the Moors, and she had little time to think about anything else. If the Italian would wait till everything else could be settled, she would see whether a ship or two might not be fitted out for his use.
For seven years this man with a new idea kept on trying to find some one who was able and willing to help him carry out the plans which he had so much at heart. At last, broken in health and almost penniless, he gave up hope, and was about to leave Spain forever. It was then that one of his friends, Luis St. Angel, pleaded his case before the queen.
“It will cost but little to fit out two or three ships for him. If the undertaking should prove to be a failure you would not lose much. But if it should succeed, only think what vast riches and how great honor will be won for Spain!”
“I will take the risk!” cried the queen, at last.“If the money cannot be had otherwise, I will sell my jewels to get it. Find him, and bring him before me; and let us lose no more time about this business.”
St. Angel hastened to obey.
“Do you know whether Christopher Columbus has passed out through this gate to-day?” he asked of the soldier who was standing guard at one of the gates of the old city of Granada.
“Christopher Columbus? Who is he?” asked the soldier.
“He is a gray-bearded man, rather tall, with a stoop in his shoulders. When last seen he was riding on a small, brown mule, and coming this way.”
“Oh? Do you mean the fellow who has been trying to make people believe that the earth is round?”
“Yes, that is the man.”
“He passed through here not half an hour ago. His mule is a very slow traveler, and if you follow, you can easily overtake him before he has gone far.”
St. Angel gave the rein to his swift horse, and galloped onward in pursuit of Columbus. It was not long until the slow-paced mule, with its sad rider, was seen plodding along the dusty highway. The man was too busy with his own thoughts to heed the sound of the ringing hoofs behind him.
“Christopher Columbus!” cried his friend, “turn about, and come back with me. I have good news foryou. Queen Isabella bids me say that she will help you, and that you shall have the ships and the men for which you ask. And she hopes that you may find a new way to the East, and perhaps discover unknown lands on the farther side of the great ocean. Turn about, and come back with me!”
One morning in August, 1492, there was a great stir in the little seaport town of Palos in Spain. At break of day the streets were full of people. Long before sunrise the shore was lined with anxious men, women, and children. All were talking about the same thing; some were weeping; some appeared to be angry; some were in despair.
“Only think of it,” said one. “Think of sailing into seas where the water is always boiling hot.”
“And if you escape being scalded,” said another, “then there are those terrible sea beasts that are large enough to swallow ships and sailors at a mouthful.”
“It is all on account of that Italian sailor who says that the world is round,” said a third. “He has persuadedseveral persons, who ought to know better, that he can reach the East by sailing west.”
Moored near the shore were three small ships. They were but little larger than fishing boats; and in these frail vessels Columbus was going to venture into the vast unknown sea, in search of strange lands and of a new and better way to distant India.
Two of the ships, the “Niña” and the “Pinta,” had no decks and were covered only at the ends where the sailors slept. The third, called the “Santa Maria,” was larger and had a deck, and from its masthead floated the flag of Columbus. It was toward these three ships that the eyes of the people on shore were directed; it was about these ships and the men on board of them that all were talking.
On the deck of the largest ship stood Columbus, and by his side was good Father Perez, praying that the voyagers might be blessed with fair winds and a smooth sea, and that the brave captain might be successful in his quest. Then the last good-bys were spoken, the moorings were cast loose, the sails were spread; and, a little before sunrise, the vessels glided slowly out of the harbor and into the vast western ocean. The people stood on the shore and watched, while the sails grew smaller and smaller and at last were lost to sight below the line of sea and sky.
“Alas! We shall never see them again,” said some,returning to their homes. But others remained all day by the shore talking about the strange idea that there were unknown lands in the distant West.
Two hundred miles southwest of Palos there is a group of islands called the Canary Islands. These were well known to the people of that time, and belonged to Spain. But sailors seldom ventured beyond them, and no one knew of any land farther to the west. It was to these islands that Columbus first directed his course. In six days the three little vessels reached the Canary Islands. The sailing had been very slow. The rudder of one of the ships had not been well made and had soon been broken. And so, now, much time was wasted while having a new rudder made and put in place.
It was not until the 6th of September that Columbus again set sail, pushing westward into unknown waters. Soon the sailors began to give way to their fears. The thought that they were on seas where no man had before ventured filled them with alarm. They remembered all the strange stories that they had heard of dreadful monsters and of mysterious dangers, and their minds were filled with distress.
But Columbus showed them how unreasonable these stories were; and he aroused their curiosity by telling them wonderful things about India—that land of gold and precious stones, which they would surely reach if they would bravely persevere.
And so, day after day, they sailed onward. The sea was calm, and the wind blowing from the east drove the ships steadily forward. By the first of October they had sailed more than two thousand miles. Birds came from the west, and flew about the ships. The water was full of floating seaweed. But still no land could be seen.
Then the sailors began to fear that they would never be able to return against the east wind that was blowing. “Why should we obey this man, Columbus?” they said. “He is surely mad. Let us throw him into the sea, and then turn the ships about while we can.”
But Columbus was so firm and brave that they dared not lay hands on him; they dared not disobey him. Soon they began to see signs of the nearness of land. Weeds, such as grow only in rivers, were seen floating near the ships. A branch of a tree, with berries on it, was picked up. Columbus offered a reward to the man who should first see land.
“We must be very near it now,” he said.
That night no one could sleep. At about two o’clock the man who was on the lookout on one of the smaller vessels cried: “Land! land! land!” Columbus himself had seen a distant light moving, some hours before. There was now a great stir on board the ships.
“Where is the land?” cried every one.
“There—there! Straight before us.”
Yes, there was a low, dark mass far in front of them, which might be land. In the dim starlight, it was hard to make out what it was. But one thing was certain, it was not a mere expanse of water, such as lay in every other direction. And so the sailors brought out a little old-fashioned cannon and fired it off as a signal to the crews of the other vessels. Then the sails of the three ships were furled, and they waited for the light of day.
When morning dawned, Columbus and his companions saw that they were quite near to a green and sunny island. It was a beautiful spot. There were pleasant groves where the songs of birds were heard. Thousands of flowers were seen on every hand, and the trees were laden with fruit. The island was inhabited, too; for strange men could be seen running toward the shore and looking with wonder at the ships.
The sailors, who had lately been ready to give up all hope, were now filled with joy. They crowded around Columbus, and kissed his hands, and begged him to forgive them for thinking of disobeying him. The ships cast anchor, the boats were lowered, and Columbus, with most of the men, went on shore. Columbus was dressed in a grand robe of scarlet, and the banner of Spain was borne above him.
The Landing of Columbus.
The Landing of Columbus.
As soon as the boats reached the shore, Columbus stepped out and knelt down upon the beach and gave thanks to God; then he took possession of the island in the name of the king and queen of Spain, and called it San Salvador. It was thus that the first land in America was discovered on the 12th of October, 1492.
The natives were filled with wonder at what they saw. At first they were awed and frightened at sight of the ships and the strange men; but they soon overcame their fears and seemed delighted and very friendly. They brought to Columbus gifts of all they had,—bananas, yams, oranges, and beautiful birds.
“Surely,” they said, “these wonderful beings who have come to us from the sea are not mere men like ourselves. They must be messengers from heaven.”
Columbus believed that this island was near the coast of Asia, and that it was one of the islands of India; and so he called the people Indians. He did not remain here long, but sailed away to discover other lands. In a short time the ships came to a large island where there were rivers of fresh water flowing into the sea. The air was sweet with the breath of blossoms; the sky was blue and clear; the sea was calm; the world seemed full of joy and peace. This island was Cuba.
“Let us live here always!” cried the sailors; “for surely this is paradise.”
And so, for three months and more, Columbus and his companions sailed among scenes of delight, such as they had never before imagined. They visited island after island, and everywhere saw new beauties and new pleasures. The natives were simple-hearted and kind. “They love their neighbors as themselves,” said Columbus. They looked with wonder upon the bright swords of the white men and upon their brilliant armor; and when the little cannon was fired, they were so filled with alarm that they fell to the ground.
It was on the 15th of the next March that Columbus, after a stormy homeward voyage, sailed again into the little harbor of Palos, from which he had started. And now there was a greater stir in the little town than there had been before. “Christopher Columbus has come back from the unknown seas!” was the cry that went from house to house.
“Did he reach the East by sailing west? Has he really been to far-off India?” asked the doubting ones.
“He has, indeed!” was the answer. “He has discovered a new world.”
Then the bells were rung, guns were fired, and bonfires blazed on the hilltops. Everybody rejoiced. Everybody was willing now to say that the Italian sailor was right when he declared the earth to be round.
Thou art, O God! the life and lightOf all this wondrous world we see;Its glow by day, its smile by night,Are but reflections caught from Thee.Where’er we turn, Thy glories shine,And all things fair and bright are Thine.When day, with farewell beam, delays,Among the opening clouds of even,And we can almost think we gazeThrough golden vistas into heaven;Those hues that mark the sun’s decline,So soft, so radiant, Lord! are Thine.When night, with wings of starry gloom,O’ershadows all the earth and skies,Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plumeIs sparkling with unnumbered eyes;—That sacred gloom, those fires Divine,So grand, so countless, Lord! are Thine.—Thomas Moore.
Thou art, O God! the life and lightOf all this wondrous world we see;Its glow by day, its smile by night,Are but reflections caught from Thee.Where’er we turn, Thy glories shine,And all things fair and bright are Thine.When day, with farewell beam, delays,Among the opening clouds of even,And we can almost think we gazeThrough golden vistas into heaven;Those hues that mark the sun’s decline,So soft, so radiant, Lord! are Thine.When night, with wings of starry gloom,O’ershadows all the earth and skies,Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plumeIs sparkling with unnumbered eyes;—That sacred gloom, those fires Divine,So grand, so countless, Lord! are Thine.—Thomas Moore.
Thou art, O God! the life and lightOf all this wondrous world we see;Its glow by day, its smile by night,Are but reflections caught from Thee.Where’er we turn, Thy glories shine,And all things fair and bright are Thine.
Thou art, O God! the life and light
Of all this wondrous world we see;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,
Are but reflections caught from Thee.
Where’er we turn, Thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine.
When day, with farewell beam, delays,Among the opening clouds of even,And we can almost think we gazeThrough golden vistas into heaven;Those hues that mark the sun’s decline,So soft, so radiant, Lord! are Thine.
When day, with farewell beam, delays,
Among the opening clouds of even,
And we can almost think we gaze
Through golden vistas into heaven;
Those hues that mark the sun’s decline,
So soft, so radiant, Lord! are Thine.
When night, with wings of starry gloom,O’ershadows all the earth and skies,Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plumeIs sparkling with unnumbered eyes;—That sacred gloom, those fires Divine,So grand, so countless, Lord! are Thine.
When night, with wings of starry gloom,
O’ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume
Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes;—
That sacred gloom, those fires Divine,
So grand, so countless, Lord! are Thine.
—Thomas Moore.
There is a land, of every land the pride,Beloved by Heaven o’er all the world beside;Where brighter suns dispense serener light,And milder moons emparadise the night:A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth,Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth:The wandering mariner whose eye exploresThe wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air.For in this land of Heaven’s peculiar grace,The heritage of Nature’s noblest race,There is a spot of earth supremely blest—A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest:Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life;In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,An angel-guard of loves and graces lie;Around her knees domestic duties meet,And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.“Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?”Art thou a man?—a patriot?—look around;Oh, thou shalt find, howe’er thy footsteps roam,That landthyCountry, and that spot thyHome.—Montgomery.
There is a land, of every land the pride,Beloved by Heaven o’er all the world beside;Where brighter suns dispense serener light,And milder moons emparadise the night:A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth,Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth:The wandering mariner whose eye exploresThe wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air.For in this land of Heaven’s peculiar grace,The heritage of Nature’s noblest race,There is a spot of earth supremely blest—A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest:Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life;In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,An angel-guard of loves and graces lie;Around her knees domestic duties meet,And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.“Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?”Art thou a man?—a patriot?—look around;Oh, thou shalt find, howe’er thy footsteps roam,That landthyCountry, and that spot thyHome.—Montgomery.
There is a land, of every land the pride,Beloved by Heaven o’er all the world beside;Where brighter suns dispense serener light,And milder moons emparadise the night:A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth,Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth:The wandering mariner whose eye exploresThe wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air.For in this land of Heaven’s peculiar grace,The heritage of Nature’s noblest race,There is a spot of earth supremely blest—A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest:Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life;In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,An angel-guard of loves and graces lie;Around her knees domestic duties meet,And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.“Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?”Art thou a man?—a patriot?—look around;Oh, thou shalt find, howe’er thy footsteps roam,That landthyCountry, and that spot thyHome.
There is a land, of every land the pride,
Beloved by Heaven o’er all the world beside;
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
And milder moons emparadise the night:
A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth,
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth:
The wandering mariner whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air.
For in this land of Heaven’s peculiar grace,
The heritage of Nature’s noblest race,
There is a spot of earth supremely blest—
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest:
Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,
Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life;
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie;
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.
“Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?”
Art thou a man?—a patriot?—look around;
Oh, thou shalt find, howe’er thy footsteps roam,
That landthyCountry, and that spot thyHome.
—Montgomery.
Page 7.—François Coppée, a noted French writer, was born at Paris in 1842. Although he was the writer of good French poetry and some successful plays, he is best known to American readers by his charming short stories, in which he depicts the life and aspirations of the common people. In his later life he was an ardent Catholic, and as such wrote fearlessly in defense of the rights of the Church in France. He died in 1908.
Page 14.—John James Audubon, a noted American ornithologist of French descent, was born at New Orleans in 1780. Perhaps no other person has done so much for the birds of America, or has described them so well, as he. His drawings of birds are particularly famous. He died at New York in 1851.
Page 16.—J. R. Marre, is a contemporary Catholic writer whose poems are well known to readers ofThe Ave Mariaand other religious periodicals.
Page 17.—Rev. John Banister Tabbwas born in Virginia, March 22, 1845. He studied for the priesthood and was ordained in 1884. He is an instructor in St. Charles College, Maryland. His poems are exquisite in movement and diction no less than in richness of thought.
Page 18.—Horace Binney Wallace, a noted American lawyer and prose writer, was born at Philadelphia, 1817; died at Paris, 1852. His best known work,Literary Criticisms, was published after his death.
Page 23.—Henry Coyleis a contemporary Catholic poet residing at Boston, Massachusetts. He is well known as a contributor to Catholic periodicals. His first volume of poetry, entitledThe Promise of Morning, was published in 1899. His writings are characterized by deep religious feeling no less than by rare poetic charm.
Page 24.—Miguel de Saavedra Cervantes, a celebrated Spanish poet and novelist, was born near Madrid, 1547; died, 1616. His most famous work is the romance entitledDon Quixote, which was first printed in 1605. It has been translated into every language of Europe.
Page 43.—John Henry, Cardinal Newmanwas born at London in 1801. He was educated at a private school until he entered Oxford, where he took his degree before he was twenty. In 1822 he was elected Fellow in Oriel College. In 1845 he left the Church of England for the Roman Catholic Church. He wrote many sermons, treatises, and poems. In literary merit his work ranks very high. He died in 1890.
Rev. Thomas Edward Bridgett, a noted priest and author, was born at Derby, England, in 1829. He was the founder of the Confraternity of the Holy Family for men, and much of his life was devoted to missionary work. He was the author of numerous religious and historical works, among which may be named,The History of the Holy Eucharist,Life of the Blessed John Fisher,Blunders and Forgeries, etc. Father Bridgett died at St. Mary’s Clapham, England, in 1899.
Page 56.—William Cowper, a celebrated English poet, was born in 1731. He attended Westminster school and afterwards studied law. His most famous poems areThe Taskand the balladJohn Gilpin’s Ride. He died in 1800.
Page 58.—Rev. Frederick William Faberwas born in Yorkshire, England, in 1814. He was an eloquent preacher, a brilliant talker, and had an unsurpassed power of gaining the love of all with whom he came in contact. His hymns are well known, and sung throughout the world. He founded a religious community which was afterwards merged in the oratory of St. Philip Neri. He died in 1863.
Page 75.—John Greenleaf Whittierwas born at Haverhill, Massachusetts, 1807. At the age of eighteen he studied for two years at an academy near his home. In 1829 he became the editor of a paper established at Boston to advocate protective tariff. He was active in the cause of antislavery. He died in 1892.
Page 82.—Mary Lydia Bolles Branchwas born at New London, Connecticut, in 1840. She is best known as a writer of stories for children.
Page 84.—John Burroughswas born in Roxbury, New York, in 1837. He was the son of a farmer, but received a good college education. For eight or nine years he taught school, and then became a journalist in New York city. From 1861 till 1873 he was a clerk in the Treasury Department at Washington. He finally settled on a farm at West Park, New York, giving his time to literature and the observation of nature. His love of nature has inspired most of what he has contributed to the literature of the world.
Page 96.—Aubrey de Vere, an Irish Catholic poet, was born in 1788. He belonged to a good family, and always had leisure to cultivate a naturally refined taste. At first he wrote dramas, but later, poems, especially sonnets. He was a true patriot, and pays many tributes of love to his country in his historical themes. He died in 1846.
Page 97.—Sir Walter Scottwas born at Edinburgh in 1771. His delightful art of story telling, both in prose and poetry, has been excelled by few. Among his most popular poems areThe Lady of the LakeandMarmion; among his most popular novels areKenilworth,Ivanhoe,The Talisman, andOld Mortality. He died in 1832.
Page 106.—Thomas Moorewas born at Dublin, Ireland, in 1779; died in 1852. He entered Trinity College, Dublin, at fifteen years of age. He studied law, and in 1799 entered the Middle Temple, London. In 1803he received a government appointment to the Bermuda Islands and traveled quite extensively in the United States. Among English Catholic poets he holds a high rank.
Page 107.—Andrew Langwas born in Scotland in 1844; died at London in 1912. He pursued many different lines of literary work, and was one of the most versatile writers of modern times. The number of volumes bearing his name as author is surprisingly large.
Page 114.—Lady Gregoryis the daughter of Dudley Presse, Deputy Lieutenant of Roxborough, County Galway, Ireland. She has done very valuable service to literature in preserving and editing many of the early Celtic legends. Some of her publications are:Poets and Dreamers,Cuchullain of Muerthemme, andGods and Fighting Men.
Page 118.—Helen Hunt Jacksonwas born in 1831 at Amherst, Massachusetts. In 1867 she wrote her first stories, and from that time until her death books from the pen of H. H. were published with frequency. She wrote verses, essays, sketches of travel, children’s stories, novels, and tracts on questions of the day.
Page 120.—St. Ambroseor Ambrosius, one of the fathers of the Latin Church, was born at Treves, A.D. 340; died, 397. He was the champion of the Catholics against Arians and pagans; he became Bishop of Milan in 374. He was the author of numerous hymns and other religious works.
Page 121.—James Sheridan Knowleswas born at Dublin, Ireland, 1784. For a time he held a commission in the militia, but became attracted to the stage and entered the dramatic profession. He died in 1862.
Page 132.—Washington Irvingwas born in New York city, April 3, 1783; died, 1859. His early schooling was not very systematic. When a young man he began the study of law, but never followed the profession very steadily. He is the most popular of the American writers of the early part of the nineteenth century.
Page 152.—Alfred Tennysonwas born at Somersby, England, in 1809. He was educated at Cambridge, where he gained the Chancellor’s medal for his poemTimbuctooin blank verse. In 1830 he published his first volume of poems. Other poems followed quickly and soon became popularly known. Tennyson’s poetry is distinguished by its rare quality and delicate choice of language. He was for many years poet laureate. He died in 1892.
Page 158.—Sister Mary Antoniais an occasional and highly esteemed contributor of verse to current Catholic periodicals.
Page 161.—Miriam Coles Harrisis a contemporary Catholic writer whose works have attracted considerable attention. The extract is fromA Corner of Spain, published in 1896.
Page 166.—William Cullen Bryant, a famous American poet, was born at Cummington, Massachusetts, November 3, 1794. He entered WilliamsCollege at the age of sixteen, but at the end of two years took honorable dismission and engaged in the study of law. He was admitted to the bar in 1815; removed to New York in 1825; was editor of theNew York Reviewin the same year; and in 1826 became connected with theEvening Post, with which he continued until his death, which occurred in 1878.
Page 170.—Conrad Von Bolandenis the pseudonym of a contemporary German Catholic writer, Monsignor Joseph Bischoff, who was born in August, 1828. He was made a Papal Chamberlain to Pope Pius IX in recognition of the merits of his efforts in the field of Catholic literature. He has written much, finding the motives of his books in history and in the problems of social life.
Page 174.—Henry Wadsworth Longfellowis often called the children’s poet, partly because of his love for children and partly because of some poems written for children. He was born in Portland, Maine, in 1807. From 1835 to 1854 he was professor of modern languages at Harvard University. He died in 1882.
Page 178.—John Gilmary Shea, a brilliant Catholic writer, was born at New York city, July 1824; died, 1892. He devoted most of his time to literature instead of to the law, for which he was educated. Perhaps no one has done more to preserve the history and language of the aborigines of this country.History of the Catholic Missions among the Indian Tribes of the United States,Early Voyages up and down the Mississippi,History of the Catholic Church in Colonial Times, are some of his most popular works.
Page 186.—James Russell Lowellwas born at Cambridge, Massachusetts, February 22, 1819. He died in the same house in which he was born, August 12, 1891. For many years he held the chair of modern languages in Harvard University. He was a man who represented American culture and letters at their best.
Page 188.—Mother Mary Loyolaof the Bar Convent, York, England, is a writer of more than ordinary power on the subjects dearest to every true Catholic. Her book,Jesus of Nazareth, from which our selection is taken, was written especially for American children and is dedicated to them.
Page 196.—Francis Scott Key, author of “The Star-spangled Banner,” was born in Frederick County, Maryland, in 1780. It was during the British invasion in 1814, while he was detained on a British man-of-war within sight of the bombardment of Fort McHenry, that Key wrote this beautiful lyrical poem. He died at Baltimore in 1843.
Page 214.—James Montgomerywas a Scottish poet, born in 1776; died in 1854. His poems, once very popular, are now almost forgotten.
Certain vowels, as a and e, when obscure are marked thus, a̯, e̯. Silent letters are italicized. In the following word list only accented syllables and syllables of doubtful pronunciation are marked.