often to cry out, as an enlightened German virgin, the holy Gertrude, was wont to pray: Receive us, O eternal Father, into Thy loving paternity, that we may come to Thee by the obedience of free-will. Receive us, O Divine Son, into Thy heavenly brotherhood of love, that Thou mayest be our friend, our teacher, and, our guide. Receive us, O God the Holy Ghost, into Thy merciful love, that Thou mayest enlighten and strengthen our spirits. Receive us, O Triune God, into Thy infinite mercy, that Thy holy will may be done in us and by us.'

HAT disciple, when he approached his Divine Master to present to Him his petition, did not say, Lord, teach me to pray, but teach us how to pray. The Spirit that inspired him to utter these words was not a spirit of selfishness, but the Spirit of truth and of love. Hence his petition was granted in the same form in which it was presented: "Thus shall you pray, Our Father who art in heaven."

Nowhere are the motives which impel us to repeat this prayer more powerfully rehearsed than in that introduction or preface which the Church prefixes to it during the holy sacrifice of the Mass; "Being instructed in Thy saving precepts, and following Thy Divine directions, we presume to say Our Father who art in heaven.'" By these words we confess, that of ourselves and through our own fault, we possess not the right to call God our Father, and that we have regained this right only through Christ, by whose command we dare to declare it. For, as the Apostle teaches, "We have not again received the spirit of servitude in fear, but the spirit of adoption as children, by which we cry, Abba, Father"-the spirit of love, which proceeds

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from God to unite us with Him. What, then, do we owe to such a Father? Honour, gratitude, obedience, and, before all, love.

For, in ordinary life, there are many benefits and services which cannot be remunerated by similar services, but by other means. With love it is not so.

Love must be repaid by love; and Divine love, which surpasseth all understanding, must be repaid by a mutual love which is not narrow-hearted, and which does not on every occasion complain, saying, This burden is too heavy; this trial is too severe; this labour too much. What is too much? That which exceeds moderation. "When," says St. Paul, "we were dead by sin, God hath made us living in Christ, by His exceeding great love;" that is, which surpasses all measure. Is not the too much, therefore, on the side of God? The too little is on our side.

In the old German chronicles it is related, that in the battle which was fought between Maurice of Saxony and Albert of Brandenburg, the two sons of the Duke of Braunschweig fell beneath the sword. It was endeavoured to convey this melancholy intelligence to the Duke in as mild a manner as possible. The messenger, therefore, first spoke to him thus, Your younger son has been slain.' The Duke, a man firm as a rock, betrayed no commotion, but concealed his grief behind a kind of sportiveness. Who can help it?' he exclaimed. But now the second Job's messenger appeared, and told him that his eldest son, a youth of excellent promise, had also been left upon the field of battle. The man of iron frame could no longer command himself; tears streamed from his eyes, and he

burst forth into this exclamation of anguish, Ah, this is too much!' We, too, have heard of many a combat and battle that have been fought, both by the wicked and the virtuous, upon this earth, each with their peculiar arms the one party with hatred and with lies; the other with truth and with love. When we hear how many an excellent and high-minded hero, who fought for light and right, has fallen a victim to wickedness; as when, for example, the holy seer, who was slain by the sword, and the philosophic seer, who drank-in death with poison, because they both opposed lies and idolatry; we perhaps lament the fate of these heroes, or rather of their miserable enemies; but we perhaps add the remark, How heavy was their burden! But it will be said that even the God-Man, in whom the plenitude of the Divine beauty and goodness displayed itself, and who alone is worthy of our adoration and love, fell in this fight-the just for the unjust. Those words will be repeated to us, "God so loved the world, that He gave His only-begotten Son;" and what shall we reply? Truly, we exclaim, this is too much; and tears stream from our eyes, tears of gratitude for such boundless love. We hear that the Divine Word became Man, and closed a life of poverty and labour with a death of sorrows, to heal our deep misery. Truly, this is all too much; and whatever we can do in return would be all too little.

But St. Paul has said of some believers, " All do not believe the Gospel." This he said first of those who boast of their faith, of pure reason. But all do not believe reason! For these cold half-thinkers blunt the arrow that would enter their hearts, or turn it aside,

and exclaim, Truly, this is too much,' but in a sense opposed to that above mentioned. How,' they continue, with an apparently holy zeal, 'did the infinite God, the Lord of the universe, become man?' and immediately they intone their song of jubilee and their muchpraised hymn, which is comprised in two strophes. In the first, they exclaim: How diminutively small is the planet upon which we dwell, and how much smaller still, in comparison with the universe, are we; and we therefore consider it an absurdity to suppose that the infinite God should have descended into this small angle of the world!' In this first strophe they humble (if they do not debase) themselves, they annihilate themselves; they make of themselves microscopic objects, and give the greatest honour to God; in the second strophe they ascend a degree higher, they give laws to God, and declare the mystery of the incarnation to be incomprehensible and impossible. An innumerable body of people, from every tribe and condition, sing with them the concluding chorus, an imaginary gravesong for deceased Christianity.

He, therefore, who would preserve internal light and life, and would guard himself against the darkness of error, must before all other things labour to attain clearness and certainty of intention. Should we raise our eyes, like these men, towards the measureless world of nature, and contemplate the diminutiveness of this earth and of its inhabitants, we shall find that thousands of years have passed away since the inspired Singer of the Psalms did the same, and exclaimed, "I see Thy heavens, the work of Thy hands, the moon and the stars, which Thou hast founded." He contemplates the