Trees Planted By The River

THE following extracts, from writings of past and present times, will speak for themselves. It is to be hoped they will speak to many hearts, and serve the purpose for which they were originally written by those who, being dead, yet bear witness to Christ. We need no proofs of the fulfillment of the promise, that the Comforter, having come, should abide forever in the Church of God. But the proofs have never been wanting; and they may at least serve to arrest the attention of some who have read history without any perception of Divine action in the minds of men. A common feature of great awakenings, or manifestations of the power of the Spirit, has been the simultaneous teaching of divine truths in lands far apart, and to races and persons who had little in common. And, on the other hand, the similarity of the Divine teaching in ages far apart, amidst absolutely different mental surroundings, must be obvious to all who will take the trouble to compare the writings of past and present times, which claim to bear witness to the communion of the soul with God, and which are at the same time based upon a belief of the great foundation truths of Christianity, as revealed in Holy Scripture. The extracts from the writings of Gertrude von Hackeborn are taken from the copies made of them by Gerhardt Tersteegen in his Leben Heiliger Seelen. Those of Julian of Norwich are also taken from the same source, but with further extract, from the work of Serenus de Cressy, published in the seventeenth century. The history of Richard Rolle may be found in some of the papers of the Early English Text Society, and in the preface to his Psalter, from which extracts are given. May the same Voice which spoke to the holy men and, women of old, speak by their means to many now. The sheep will recognize the voice of the Shepherd. And let none suppose that the faith which leads to joy unspeakable and full of glory, and to the enjoyment of “those things which the angels desire to look into,” is a faith which tends to idle dreaming and visionary sentiment. “Wherefore,” says the Apostle Peter, in the verse following, “gird up the loins of your mind, be sober, and hope to the end for the grace that is to be brought unto you at the revelation of Jesus Christ.”

Chapter 1.

A Still Hour.

“From the Rock that God has riven

Flows the sacred River,

Through the wastes of barren ages

Ever and forever.

Full and fresh from depths unfathomed

Still it flows along;

Making glad the Holy City

Of eternal song.

Still on this side and on that side

Grow the healing trees,

Bearing fruit for all who hunger,

Leaves for all disease.

Still to drink the living waters

Come the souls athirst;

Eyes behold the Face of Jesus

Even as at first.

Sheep lie yet in God’s green pastures

By the waters still;

Lilies grow amidst His meadows,

Cedars on His hill.

Clad in white there walk beside Him

Still the blessed throng;

Through the ages sound unsilenced

Psaltery and song.

In procession never broken,

from the Cross they wend,

To the sacred bridal chamber,

Where the journeyings end.”

“IT is an entirely false supposition,” writes Dr. Keller, “arising from the statements of opponents, and from the analogy of later centuries, that the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries present us with a confused mass of heterogeneous church communities amongst the German nations.

“It is true that in the Roman Church, as in the so-called ‘Christian communities,’ certain tendencies or schools existed, produced by the influence of some important men.

“But at the bottom there can be only found in Germany at that period two great currents, represented on the one side by the Romish hierarchy, on the other by the so-called ‘Waldensian Brethren.’

“All forms of spiritual life at that epoch rest upon great and general impulses, and upon the wide stream of traditions of long past ages. As in architecture an individual master produced details in his work which arose from his own individuality, but beneath these details held strictly and unswervingly to traditional forms and rules, so is it with the religious literature which has descended to us from those centuries.

“Indeed one may go further, and assert that as an expert in observing any building of that period can at once decide whether it belongs to the class of Byzantine or Gothic art; so, a historian who is acquainted with the religious sphere of thought of the ‘Christian communities’ on the one hand, and with that of the Roman Church on the other, can at a glance perceive whether a written production of a religious nature has its origin in the one or the other sphere.

“The laws of architecture enable an adept to be certain of the style to which even detached fragments of building belong. There are forms and measurements which to an ordinary observer contain no evidence, but which to an architectural expert contain the clue to the principle upon which the whole building was erected.

“Does the same analogy hold good when applied to religious literature?

“Facts prove to us that the same laws are carried out. From a sentence, a form of expression, even from a single word, it is as possible in this case to arrive at sure results as to the question whether the written work proceeds from Roman or from ‘Christian’ sources.”

Nor can we, as Dr. Keller further explains, arrive at these results by the bare knowledge of the fact that the author was professedly a member of the Roman Church, or a declared “Waldensian Christian.” For the community of thought and of faith was not limited by the outward ecclesiastical position; the writings of priests, monks, and nuns may or may not belong to the sphere of Roman thought.

The teaching of the “Waldensian Brethren” had penetrated into the convents and amongst the priesthood which still retained the name of “Catholic,” and it is only by the confession of faith contained in the writings handed down to us that we can trace the power of the Spirit of God, as a river of pure water flowing through barren tracts, and bringing with it life and gladness.

We may therefore disentangle from the weeds and briers the plants of God’s planting, nourished by the stream of living water; and though we may not know in each case the means by which the Gospel of Christ reached the soul, whether by the immediate teaching of the Spirit, or by means of believing men and women, we can distinguish those souls without difficulty from the benighted, the superstitious, and the formalists around them. To one such believer in the Lord Jesus Christ we will now turn.

More than six hundred years have passed away since the “still hour” in the convent of Hellfde, near Eisleben, when the Abbess Gertrude von Hackeborn wrote suddenly some words, still to be read, upon the tablet which hung by her side.

For “a mighty drawing of the Holy Spirit “led her at that moment to begin to write” that which in secret and in silence the Beloved of her heart had spoken, when in still hours she was alone with Him.” And thus she wrote:—

“The depth of the untreated Wisdom calleth to the depth of the Almighty Love, praising, O Lord, and magnifying the marvels of Thy grace, Thy mercy fathomless and overflowing. For Thou, O God of my life, Thou, the most sweet, Thou, the One only Beloved of my soul, hast poured forth the tide of Thy mercy as a mighty stream, and it has flowed downwards and onwards through the waste and barren places, and has swept away the barriers I had piled up to hinder it, in the valley of my misery and my sin.

“For in the six and twentieth year of my age, or the day to me so blessed, the 24th of February” (the year about 1280), “in an hour for which my heart had longed, and when the twilight of the dawn was breaking, didst Thou, O Truth, O God, make Thyself known to me.

“Thou, who art brighter than all light, and more mysterious than all secret things, Thou didst then tenderly and gently begin the work of my conversion. For thou hadst purposed to enlighten my thick darkness, and to still the restless longing which a month before thou didst awaken in my soul.

“This restless weariness it was, O Lord, which shattered the tower of my vanity and my wisdom, built up by my inordinate love of learning―inordinate, though by my cloister vows I had professed to give myself to Thee.

“And it seemed to me on that day, February the 24th that I was sitting in the choir, in the corner where I was wont to repeat my lukewarm prayers. And it was as if Thine own voice spake to me and said, ‘Thou hast been feeding with Mine enemies on earth and ashes, and seeking for honey amongst the briers. Turn at long last to Me, and I will welcome thee, and I will make thee to drink of the river of My pleasures, and of the joy of God.’

“And when Thou spakest these words, my heart was melted within me, and with a mighty longing would I have drawn nigh to Thee.

“But lo! between my soul and Thee, I saw as it were a fence long and high—so long that neither to right nor left could I see the end thereof. And so thickly was the fence beset with thorns up to the topmost edge, that I saw no way whereby I might break through it to come to Thee, the one only consolation of my heart. And I knew that this was the fence of my sins and my transgressions which stood between my soul and Thee. And I stood there and I wept, for the longing I had after Thee, till there was no more spirit in me.

“Then, O Thou Father of the poor and the sorrowful, Thou, whose mercies are over all Thy works, then didst Thou take me by my hand, and I found that I had passed beyond the fence, and was brought near, how near, to Thee!

“And when I beheld the Hand that held me and brought me nigh, then did I know, O beloved Lord Jesus, how it was that the handwriting which stood against me, Thine enemy, was blotted out, for I saw the blessed glory of Thy wounds, and on that Hand whence flowed of old the precious Blood, was written the assurance of Thine eternal love.

“Therefore, I praise Thee and adore Thee, and I thank from the innermost depths of my heart Thy wise mercy and Thy merciful wisdom. For Thou, my Creator and my Redeemer, hast in loving tenderness bent my stubborn neck beneath Thine easy yoke, and hast caused me to walk in the way where the odors of Thine ointments are sweet, and the light of a new day is fair and clear. So can I bear witness that the yoke which I deemed so hard, and the burden which seemed so heavy, are easy and are light to those who walk with Thee.”

Chapter 2.

The Cloister Court.

“There sounds a glorious music,

As though all the Heavens rejoice;

There is One who singeth, and wondrous

Is the gladness of His Voice.

A joy of surpassing sweetness

Of love no speech can tell;

I hear, and my heart is broken,

For the Voice I know full well.

That Voice that has called me ever―

Called through the years of sin,

At my door beseeching and knocking—

‘Let Me, even Me, come in.’

And now in His joy He singeth,

And His marvelous song is of me;

And all the Heavens make music,

For the gladness of God they see.

‘He was dead, he was dead, and he liveth;

He was lost, was lost, and is found’—

This is the song He singeth,

This is the joyful sound,

Through the open door of Heaven

Down to my chamber dim

Is borne that tide of rejoicing,

That wondrous hymn.”

WE have read the first chapters in the history of this sheep, lost and found—of one who had been dead and was alive. From friends of her youth we know something of her early history.

She was a daughter of the noble house of the Counts of Hackeborn had been brought up in a Benedictine convent at Rodelsdorff, in Saxony, from which she was transferred to the convent of Hellfde, where her sister Mechthild was already a professed nun. Here, having taken the vows, she gave herself up to the study of Latin and of science.

For she was “wise beyond all others who learned with her, and was gentle and loving, and was ready to render a service to any, being humble and of a quiet spirit; and because of her skill in learning, and of her gracious ways, she was held in honor by all around her.”

Thus did Gertrude grow up sweet and fair in the eyes of men; but in her heart she was unquiet, and she dared not look within, for she knew that the Christ of whom Mechthild spoke was a stranger to her soul. And the God who was the light of Mechild’s life, was to her but the Judge before whom she must one day stand, and give account to Him of her life, so lovely before men, but so empty of all love to Him who had given her the gifts that made her fair and sweet.

And thus had she journeyed on, carrying the heavy burden of her guilt, though scarcely knowing what it was in her blameless life that could be called sin.

It was on that day in February that the burden fell from her shoulders, and she knew that the “handwriting that was against her” had been nailed to the Cross of Christ. For He had made peace by the Blood of His Cross, and He had reconciled her to God, forgiving her all trespasses. And for awhile all was joy and peace, and her heart overflowed with praise to Him who had saved her with an eternal salvation, so that there was no condemnation, no fearful looking for of judgment, but before her only Paradise, even Paradise with Christ.

We will turn again to the tablet to read what was the fresh need of this redeemed soul—what was the fresh grace given to her by Him who is not satisfied by forgiving, nor satisfied by the gift of the Paradise to come.

“All hail! O Thou the Salvation, and the Light of my soul, may Heaven and earth praise Thee and the depths beneath. For Thou in Thy grace didst lead me to look within and search the innermost chambers of my heart, of which I had known as little, if so I may speak, as of that which is within my hands and feet.

“But when the sweetness and the glory of Thy light had illumined those dark chambers, then did I behold the uncleanness which was manifested by Thy purity. Then did I behold the confusion and disorder which made my heart all unfit to be Thine abiding place.

“And yet in spite of this, and in spite of my sin, O Thou blessed Jesus, didst Thou manifest Thyself to me—though I saw Thee as one sees in the dusk of the dawn, dimly and darkly. But when I remember what was my past life, and my present life, I perceive and own that it was in pure grace that I saw Thee, however dimly, for in former years Thou wert all unknown to me, and all unseen.

“And it came to pass, whilst Thou wert so tenderly drawing my heart from empty pleasures to Thyself, that I went on a certain day into the cloister court. It was in the spring-time, between Easter and the Ascension day. And I sat down beside the fishpond, and considered the loveliness of that quiet court. And it pleased me well to see the clear water flowing in, and the green trees that stood around, and the birds that flew amidst the branches, and especially the doves that soared aloft so glad and so free.

“And most of all it was sweet to me that I could sit there in that quiet solitary place, and be at rest.

“Then did I begin to question with myself what more could I wish, in order that the sweetness and delight might be of profit to my soul. And I thought, ‘Were there but a wise and trusted friend beside me, who would turn this quiet hour to good account, or make it to turn, through me, to good account for others!’

“And Thou, O Lord, who gavest me the beginning of this thought, Thou the fountain of immeasurable joy, Thou didst lead on my thought to a blessed end, even to Thyself.

“For Thou didst show me that as the clear water flowed into the silent court, so should my praise and love flow back to Thee, O Thou resting-place of my heart. And as the trees stood fresh and green with their fair spring blossoms, so should my soul be as the garden of Thy pleasant trees; and as the doves soaring up from the lower earth into the depths of the blue heavens, so should my heart seek the things that are above. And as the cloister court was still, and the many sounds of the world beyond could not enter there, so wouldest Thou have all my heart and soul to be a still seclusion, and then should I be to Thee as the quiet court to me, a lovely and a blessed resting-place.

“And all through that day there abode in my memory this thought that came from Thee. And in the evening when I knelt down to pray, before I rested on my bed, there came to me suddenly the remembrance of Thy words in the blessed Gospel, even these, “If a man love Me, he will keep My words, and My Father will love him, and We will come unto him, and make Our abode with him.”

“And with these words my poor heart became aware that Thou, O blessed Lord, Thou, the One Beloved of my heart, hadst entered in to dwell there. But a thousand times— thousand times did I long that Thy precious blood, as an endless ocean, might be poured out upon me from head to foot, that thus the dwelling-place that Thou hadst chosen for Thyself might be cleansed from the mire of my unworthiness, and made worthy, O Lord, of Thee! For in truth I know that if the moment of my most fervent endeavor to cleanse my heart could be prolonged through the whole of my life, I could not make myself worthy for one moment even of Thy reproving grace; and yet to me, unworthy and unclean, Thy tenderest grace is given.”

Even so, in spite of the sins and in spite of the ignorance of this child of God, did the immeasurable love and grace reach her and bless her. He answered to the longing of the heart in which His love had been shed abroad, and she knew that He had entered to dwell there.

Yet though she also knew that no labor of her own, but His precious Blood alone could cleanse the dwelling-place He had chosen, she had not known that already she was cleansed, washed, sanctified, and justified, and made meet for Him, and for the inheritance of the saints in light. She was as Peter when he asked to be washed from head to foot, and his Lord answered him in words so little understood, not only by the saints of six hundred years ago, but by many now, “He that is washed needeth not save to wash his feet, but is clean every whit.”

Chapter 3.

“I in Them.” (John 17:23.)

“I go on my way rejoicing,

Though weary the wilderness road;

I go on my way rejoicing,

In hope of the glory of God.

O well do I know that glory,

That home and that welcome sweet,

Where above the mists and the shadows,

With the heart of my God I meet.

There the ship of my soul is anchored

In the calm of the crystal sea;

For within the veil is the anchor,

Where Jesus has entered for me.

Awhile in the earthen vessel

Those treasures of glory gleam;

In Heaven the fount eternal,

In the desert the living stream.

And looking on Christ in glory,

That glory so still, so fair,

There passes a change upon me,

Till I am as He who is there.

Then no more in the earthen vessel

The treasure of God shall be;

But in full and unclouded beauty,

O Lord, wilt Thou shine through me,

Afar through the golden vessel

Will the glory of God shine bright;

There shall be no need for the sunshine,

For the Lamb shall be the light.

With a light like a stone most precious,

Shall the City of God be fair;

He shall shine who is like to the jasper,

In cloudless radiance there.

Undimmed in that wondrous vessel,

The glory of God’s great love

Shall beam o’er the earth He ransomed,

And shall fill the Heavens above.

All, all in His new creation,

The glory of God shall see;

And the lamp for that light resplendent

The Bride of the Lamb shall be.

A golden lamp in the Heavens,

That all may see and adore

The Lamb who was slain and who liveth,

Who liveth for evermore.

So I go on my way rejoicing

That the Heavens and earth shall see

His grace, and His glory, and beauty,

In the depth of His love to me.”

―Romans 52; 2 Cor. 3:18; Revelation 4:3; 21:10, 11.

But there is another side to the experience of the Abbess Gertrude―another side to the experience of many now.

There was a truth mixed with her error, which is dimly seen and confusedly grasped by many a mind. There are those who own the perfect and completed cleansing by the Blood of Jesus, and yet feel that more is needed for the unclouded enjoyment of the Presence of the Beloved.

It is the truth set forth in the words which came to her as she knelt that evening in her cell, “If a man love Me, he will keep My words, and My Father will love him; and We will come unto him, and make Our abode with him.”

Do we not know in our own experience that this consciousness of the abiding of the Lord in us, even in the cleansed believer, is dependent on the keeping of His words, and that our abiding in Him stands connected, inseparably connected, with a blessed consequence, even that we bring forth much fruit?

And do we not ask ourselves, often mournfully and wonderingly, why His Presence is so often to us as that of a wayfaring man who tarrieth for the night? And why the abundance of fruit so seldom tells that we are abiding in Him? Is it not after all that we labor too little in His service, and that our part is not done?

It is in the hope of answering these questions that the teaching and experience of some of the saints of God have been collected, in confirmation of His own words, spoken to His saints of old, and to His children today.

He who giveth liberally of His wisdom, upbraiding not, was the patient teacher of the Abbess Gertrude in those ages of cloud and shadow, when the light was darkened by stained windows of man’s devices.

Nearly seven years passed away, and the Abbess Gertrude was still groping after the power to serve the Lord she loved, and still cast down because so little fruit was found where she had toiled so wearily.

“Then,” she wrote, “it came to pass, before Advent, that I, moved by Thy Spirit, besought a certain person to pray for me every day, and to say such words as these― ‘For the sake of Thy pierced heart, O beloved Lord, pierce her heart with the darts of Thy love, so that she may no longer be holden down by earthly things, but may be held up by the power of Thy Godhead.’

“And I believe that it was through the prayer of this person that Thou wert moved on the Sunday bore Christmas to put a longing into my soul, whereby I was compelled to speak to Thee, saying, Lord, I confess that according to my deserts I am not worthy to receive the smallest crumb of Thy gifts, but I join with the prayer from those other lips, and beseech Thee that Thou wilt pierce my heart with the arrows of Thy love.’

“And there and then I knew it, that Thy grace had flowed forth, and that the words I spike had been in a power that reached the heart of God.

“But my longing was not fully satisfied until the Wednesday following, when suddenly Thou wert there, and Thou spakest to me in words that entered into my innermost heart, saying, ‘All the multitude of thy desires, all thy longing and thy hoping, all thy joy and thy sorrow and thy fear, and all that is in thee, bind them all together and cast them all into the depths where all is rest, into the depths of Mine eternal love.’

“Then did I see, that in the place of all my shortcomings and my unworthiness, was the mighty Love, which abides in its fullness in Him who sitteth at Thy right hand, and who had joined me to Himself. And through Him I cast down before Thee all my lamentations over my sin and unworthiness. And I saw, as a special sin, how I had overlooked and neglected Thy gifts, looking to Thee for that which was already given.

“For truly, hadst Thou given to me, unworthy as I am, one poor thread to keep in remembrance of Thee, I should have held it in higher honor than the gifts that Thou hast given, and that I have so lightly esteemed, the gift of the Spirit of Christ.

“And my soul received at that time a certain inexpressible comprehension of those sweetest words, ‘God shall be all in all,’ for it was as if He spake to me, saying, ‘Thou art called to be conformed to the image of My Son, receiving ever into thy soul, which is made partaker of the Divine nature, the stream of the eternal life that is in Him, as the air receives the streams of the sunlight, and is filled and glorified thereby.’

“O wondrous power of the right hand of the Most High, that an earthen vessel, a vessel of earth so coarse and common, should be made to hold a treasure so glorious and so precious!”

Thus were the eyes of the Abbess Gertrude anointed that she might see the marvelous gift already given, but given to one unconscious of having received it. She had been praying that He might enter the temple that He had cleansed, and she had been unaware of the power of His Presence, even after the answer given her seven years before, when she knelt at her bedside in her cell. She could see the unsightliness of the earthen vessel, but her eyes had been blind to the treasure within it.

For, as a matter of experience, Christ dwells in our hearts by faith. We believe the blessed words of God, that it is even as He has said; and we know in all our hearts and all our souls that “not one thing hath failed of all the good things which the Lord our God spake concerning us—all are come to pass unto us, and not one thing hath failed thereof.” Did He not say, “I will pray the Father, and He shall give you another Comforter, that He may abide with you forever; I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you?”

And is it not that Presence in the cleansed believer that brings forth in him the fruit of the Tree of Life? Does not He, “the Mighty Love,” give to His beloved even now, to eat of the fruit of the Tree of Life that is in the midst of the Paradise of God? And feeding on that fruit, we bring forth, rather let us say, He brings forth in us, “the leaf that shall not fade, and the new fruit according to his months, because their waters they issued out of the sanctuary. And the fruit thereof shall be for meat, and the leaf for medicine.”

Is it because of our worthiness that He thus dwells within us? Or is it rather because of the precious blood which has cleansed us―for as of old the blood was sprinkled on the tabernacle, and the glory entered to dwell there, so now, not because of works of righteousness which we have done, but because of that precious Blood, does the true Shekinah take possession of the tabernacle, to be our light and gladness even now on the wilderness way.

Chapter 4.

The Goodly Land (Eph. 1:1.)

“It was as if upon His Breast

He laid His pierced Hand,

And said, ‘To thee, beloved and blest,

I give this goodly land.’

O land of fountains and of deeps,

Of God’s exhaustless store―

O blessed land, where he who reaps

Shall never hunger more―

O summer land, forever fair

With God’s unfading flowers;

O land, where spices fill the air,

And songs the golden towers―

O land of safety, land of Home,

Of God my Father’s kiss,

To thee, O glorious land, I come;

My heritage of bliss!

Lord, not through works of righteousness,

The works that I have done,

But through the glory of Thy grace,

The merit of Thy Son,

To me this goodly land is given,

The heart of Christ to me―

My Home, my Blessedness, my Heaven,

My God, I worship Thee.”

―Gertrude Von Hackeborn, 1260-1330.

“AFTER this,” wrote the Abbess Gertrude, “on the Sunday before the fast, didst Thou show me what a land is that, which Thine abounding goodness has promised, when it is said, ‘To thee and to thy seed will I give this land.’

“It was as if in speaking these words Thou didst lay Thy Hand of might upon Thy heart of love. O blessed land I land which maketh blessed all who dwell there, where all the streams of love and gladness flow together in one. Fields of delight, fields of the corn of Heaven, whereof one grain can satisfy the hunger of all the chosen people I Land which bringeth forth eternally all that to the heart is sweet and delightsome, beautiful and lovely—all that longing can desire, all that desire can paint!

“And when I thought upon this, pondering these things not as I ought, yet as best I could, behold the grace and sweetness of the love of God our Saviour, which stood revealed to me! Not according to works of righteousness which I had done, not according to the deserving’s of mine unworthiness, but according to His unspeakable mercy did He show Himself to me.

“It was Thou, O my Lord, who knewest me worthy only of Thy curse, who didst make me Thy child by the birth from above, and thus meet to receive the adorable, the blessed union with Thyself, Christ my Saviour. Union more blessed than all the Heavens, more precious than all treasure, the union of my innermost heart with Thine.”

So is it said that He “who loved the Church and gave Himself for it” in the past, who “sanctifies and cleanses it by the washing of water by the Word” in the present, and who will in the future present it to Himself a glorious Church, “has made us even now to be one with Him, members of His body, of His flesh, and of His bones, no more twain, but One.”

“Truly,” she wrote, “the cause lay within Thyself, in Thy nature, which is not loving only, but is love. And it was the sweetness of Thy love that moved Thee to call from the far country, from the farthest distance of baseness and of vileness, one who should be made one with Thee, who should have fellowship with Thee in Thy kingly glory, and be made partaker of Thy divine nature.

“For it seems to me, and so I hope it truly is, that none could be found less worthy of Thee, none who has so trampled upon Thy glorious gifts, none who has so hindered and stumbled others as I have done.

“And to me hast Thou opened the doors of the house of Thy treasures, and drawn my soul within, by the wondrous, the inexpressible, the unimaginable power of Thy love.

“To me—even to me is this treasury unclosed, the golden chambers of Thy heart of love, and there hast Thou shown me the unfathomable mystery, the inmost delight of God.

“O eternal summer! sure and quiet dwelling-place! Home where all is found that can rejoice the heart. Paradise of unfading blossoms! overflowing river of the pleasures of God! how dost thou allure the soul! All longing desires turn to thee, thou springtime of sweetest flowers; and the soul is drawn from afar by the enchantment of sweet music which is a heavenly speech, and the rich odors of the spites that restore the faint and weary, and all gentle sounds and songs that are as the nameless tenderness of the caresses of the Beloved!

“O blessed and thrice blessed, yea, blest with a blessing untold, is he who is guided by the hand of grace to enter in and to draw near, there where God awaits him, there to be made one with Christ!

“Marvelous worth bestowed upon the little grain of dust, which Christ the Stone most precious draws to Himself from the mire of the streets! Marvelous beauty granted to the little flower which the sunbeam draws forth from the black earth of the fens, to shine, as it were, in company with the sun, and to be made into a crown for Him who has created it!

“Thus are the souls who are made anew in the image of Him who created them; yet ever distinct from Him, as the creature from the Creator—distinct, yet one with Him who has redeemed them. Blessed are they who abide in this place which He has given them—a place which, alas, I abide in but for a short moment, and yet it is my eternal home.

“It is a blessed gift so to delight the soul amidst the spices of His garden, that we are unwilling for one instant to set our foot there where the sweet odors are not; but at the same time willing to go forth where love leadeth us, to blessed service and labor, carrying with us the fragrance of the spices of God, that others may be drawn to Him!

“That Thou canst give to me this gift, I doubt not, O my God, for all power is Thine, and I trust Thee assuredly so to do. And that Thou wilt give it me, I doubt not, for Thy love is immeasurable. But that Thou shouldst give it to one so unworthy, is a mystery I cannot fathom; it is a mystery of the wisdom of God, and I can but worship before Thee as I own it, and bless Thy holy name.

“And when I had written awhile, and the words I had written seemed to me unfit and unworthy, I ceased to write, and betook myself to other services.

“Then did the Lord speak to my heart, saying, ‘Know of a truth, thou shalt not pass out of the dungeon of the flesh till thou hast paid the farthing that thou holdest back from Me.’ Then I bethought me, that though I could not write, yet I might speak with my lips the words that might profit my neighbor. But the Lord spake further, saying, ‘Had the words of salvation been meant only for those present, they would have been spoken only, but not written. But the words written have served for the salvation of many souls.’

“Thereupon a burden was laid upon my heart, for I thought how difficult, nay, how impossible would it be, to find words or sentences wherein such things as the Lord showed me could be expressed without stumbling those who should read them.

“But to my faintheartedness the Lord appeared for my strengthening, and it was as if a torrent of mighty rain rushed down upon my soul, beneath which I, a young and tender plant, fell beaten to the earth, unable to receive the blessing poured down upon me, or to take into my soul more than a few solemn words which were above and beyond my human understanding.

“Then did I ask, all the more burdened and helpless, whereunto this should serve? And Thou, O my God, who tallest to Thee the weary and the heavy laden, that Thou mayest give them rest, Thou didst call to me, and revive my soul, saying thus to me, ‘Since the pouring out of the mighty waves upon thee seemeth to thee unhelpful, behold I will lay thee upon my heart of love, that I may speak to thee the same words in speech soft and low, tenderly measuring forth My message as thou art able to receive it.’

“Lord, I own before Thee, that Thou hast fulfilled Thy promise, for Thy Word is truth. For day by day, thereafter, didst Thou, in quiet hours, give me to write that which is now written. Thou didst make” the words to flow into my heart, so that without thought beforehand, and without weariness, I could write as though I knew it all by heart, and when I had written my daily portion I could by no effort of mind determine what I should write on the day following. But when the day came all was given to me richly, and I wrote without labor.”

Chapter 5.

“Ye in Me.”

“I see a Man at God’s right hand,

Upon the throne of God;

And there in sevenfold light I see

The sevenfold sprinkled Blood.

I look upon that glorious Man,

On that blood-sprinkled throne―

I know that He is there for me,

His glory is my own.

The heart of God flows forth in love,

A deep eternal stream;

Through that beloved Son it flows

To me as unto Him.

And looking on His face I know,

Weak, worthless though I be,

How deep, how measureless, how sweet

That love of God to me!”

Titus far do we find three steps in the knowledge of the Lord, shown to us more or less clearly in the inner history of the Abbess Gertrude.

First, the knowledge of forgiveness through the Blood of Jesus, imperfectly understood, yet simply believed. Imperfectly understood, for it seemed to her that it must be a cleansing again and again repeated; yet she was simply trusting to that Blood alone, and therefore she had peace, though scarcely untroubled peace, to her soul.

Secondly, did she learn the love which led the Lord who died for His own, to make His dwelling-place in the hearts that He had cleansed.

And thirdly, there dawned upon her a yet more glorious truth; that the redeemed soul is seen before God in Christ, for with Christ it is made one. Not only that He dwells in us, but also we in Him, because He has given to us of His Spirit. Not only did He come to dwell in the quiet court, the heart that loved Him, but He led His beloved one forth into the goodly land, to find her abiding place in the heart of Christ.

Shall we ever fathom the depths of the simple words repeated to us so often in the writings of the Apostles—the oft-repeated words “in Christ?”

To the Abbess Gertrude these words had become a reality, though, like ourselves, she had, in her consciousness of it, reached but the shore of the infinite ocean of blessedness.

“I know,” says the Apostle, “a man in Christ.” “But this,” writes one in our day, “we must a little explain and open out. It is often very vague in many a Christian’s heart. In Paradise, without law, under the law, and when Christ was presented to him, man had failed. He had sinned in Paradise, he was lawless when without law, a transgressor when under law, and last and worst of all, when Christ came, man proved to be without a cloak for sin, the hater of Him and of His Father.”

Man was lost. The tree had been proved bad, and the more the care, the worse the fruit. The tree was to bear fruit no more forever. Not only had man proved to be a sinner in every way, but he had rejected the remedy. Christ came into an already sinful world, and He was despised and rejected of men.

But now comes God’s work for the sinner. He who knew no sin is made sin for us. He drinks graciously and willingly the cup given Him to drink. He lays down the life in which He bore, the sin, and all is gone with it. He suffered for the sins of every believer, and by the sacrifice of Himself He has perfected them forever. He that is dead is freed from sin.

But Christ died. He then is freed from sin. But whose? Ours, who believe in Him. It is all gone, gone with the life to which it was attached, in which He bore it. In that He died, He died unto sin once; in that He liveth, He liveth unto God.

With us too it is gone, for Christ has died, receiving from God the judgment of the sin which He bore for us. If we are alive, we are alive now on a new footing before God—alive in Christ. The old things are passed away, there is a new creation. We are created again in Christ Jesus.

Our place, our standing before God, is no longer in the flesh. It is in Christ. (“When we were in the flesh,” writes the Apostle, speaking of a past and closed position.) Christ, as man, has taken quite a new place, to which neither Adam innocent, nor Adam guilty, had anything to say. The best robe formed no part of the prodigal’s first inheritance at all. It was in the father’s possession, quite a new thing.

Christ has taken this place consequently on putting away our sins, and finishing the work.

And now when we, once dead in our sins, are made alive, we are made alive with the life in which Christ lives. We are men in Christ, not in Adam. We belong to a new creation, having the life of the Head of this new creation as our life.

The Cross of Christ is for the believer that impassable Red Sea, that Jordan through which he has now gone, delivered from Egypt forever, and having entered into Canaan “in Christ.”

The land so glorious and so blessed known to the Abbess Gertrude in those old times, known to the simplest believer now.

“But if in Christ, the title and privilege of Christ is our title and privilege. Of the full and wondrous fruit of this heavenly standing, Paul was given to enjoy in an extraordinary and blessed manner. Paul was so allowed to know it that there was a time when he could not tell if he were in or out of the body.

“And we, though we may never have been in the third heaven to realize fully the glory of the place which God has given us, we have known enough of that blessing to rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory. The feeblest saint who knows his place in Christ knows this, for this is indeed our proper Christian state, the Spirit filling us, so as to be the only source of actual thought in us, when we are thus abiding in Christ.”

Is it so? Let us travel on six hundred years from that “Sunday before the fast,” and travel also from the old convent of Hellfde to a quiet lane in Hertfordshire, where stands a small farmhouse, plain and unsightly.

There lived there a farmer, respectable and very commonplace, absorbed in his cows and his crops. His stolid, unintelligent face told of a mind into which higher matters had seldom found their way.

He fell into bad health, and a visitor who sometimes called to see him made hopeless attempts to direct his thoughts to the God before whom he was, apparently, so soon to appear.

He did not object or oppose; he seemed too little to understand even the simplest verses of the Bible to find objections.

He smiled in a bewildered manner, and said, “Haven’t no doubt it’s all very nice for them as can take it in, but I’m one of those as can’t.”

God, Christ, Heaven, the Soul, seemed to him words to which no special meaning attached, and it, was a relief to him to take out his large account-book, and describe to his visitor the number and value of the cows he had lost by “that there lung disease.”

Again and again the visits ended thus, and the visitor left the neighborhood sad and discouraged. Six months afterward she received a message from this man. It was thus, “You will be glad to hear that I am saved.” She returned to the neighborhood, and again found herself in the dark little parlor, but like a light in the darkness was the radiant face of the farmer.

“The Lord has healed my body,” he said, “and He has saved my soul.”

And in answer to the question of his visitor, he thus related the history of that which had befallen him.

“You remember,” he said, “how stupid I was when you talked to me last year about the Lord Jesus Christ. It seemed all like Greek to me—couldn’t make out what it was you meant me to understand. But I kept thinking, well, there’s something or other I must do to be saved — I must repent, or pray, or turn over a new leaf—yet I couldn’t make out what. And so I let it alone, and thought there’s some that understands these things, and some that don’t, and so I must let it be.

“It was a fortnight ago I went to bed, just as stupid and dark as ever I was. It seemed to me that in the middle of the night I awoke-but yet it must have been a dream. For when I seemed to wake, strange to say, everything was gone. There was empty space, and nothing else. And stranger still, I was gone! clean gone! It was a wonder to me that words can’t say.

“Then I thought, is there nothing, nothing anywhere? Is there nothing that cannot be gone? And then in one moment it came to me clearly and surely, Christ cannot be gone. Christ is there before His Father; His eyes are upon Christ. Christ is there in my place, and God looks at Christ. I am, gone. It is Christ who has undertaken all that I could not do. Christ has satisfied God. He must be satisfied, for His eyes are upon Christ, and Christ is perfect.

“And I had my heart filled with perfect peace and joy, and I awoke calling out, ‘I am gone, and Christ is there before God!’ And now that I was really awake, I understood it all. I had been thinking before, I must do or be this or that. But God had showed me as it were in a picture that not only He did not want my doings, but He did not want me. He could only be satisfied with Christ. And it was in Christ only that I was there before Him; not a question of what I was, but of what He is; not a question of me at all, but only what Christ is to God.

“It was a joy to me no words can tell, for not only I saw my sin was gone, but the wretched self that did the sin, the sinful stupid self, all gone, and Christ only left!”

By this mysterious means had the Lord revealed Himself to the Hertfordshire grazier, as of old to the Abbess Gertrude. From this time his life work was to seek to win souls for Christ. His joy and peace were not the passing excitement caused by a strange dream, but the eternal blessedness caused by belief in the truth thus taught to his soul.

He lived four years in the faithful service of God, and died saying, “There is nothing, nothing but happiness,” for to him there was nothing but Christ.

“Do you know which side of the Jordan you are? “a friend said to him some time before his death. She did not expect he would know the meaning of the question.

He looked at her in astonishment. “I don’t think,” he said, “that you needed to ask me such a question as that. How can I help knowing that I am in the land that flows with milk and honey?”

He too had been led into the “land of eternal summer,” into the “Paradise of unfading blossoms.” For there is one Body and one Spirit, even as we are called in one hope of our calling, one Jesus, the same yesterday, today, and forever.

Chapter 6.

The Light of His Countenance.

“That the love wherewith Thou hast loved Me may be in them, and I in them.”

“At the Lord’s right hand there are pleasures,

There are pleasures for evermore―

In the depths of His glory are treasures,

A measureless priceless store.

O God, we have shared Thy pleasures,

Thy treasures of countless price―

Those joys that no thought can measure,

For all are Christ.

That cup of Thy love and gladness

Has cheered us along the road;

Through ages of sin and of sadness

Partaking the joys of God―

Through Thy Spirit sent down from Heaven

Thy Christ to our hearts is dear;

The Spirit who tells of His sweetness

Is with us here.

Thus false though our hearts and faithless,

We love Him with love divine;

With a love that is true and scatheless,

For it is not ours but Thine.

Thy love from our hearts outflowing,

Its source in the Heavens above,

That love of Thine own bestowing

Eternal love.

O God, with Thy love we love Him,

And thus are our praises sweet;

A fragrance that fills the Heavens

As we fall before His feet.

Our God, of Thine own we give Thee,

And Thine is the golden store;

What are we that we thus can offer,

Can thus adore?

Our heart and our flesh may fail us,

And the mists of sin may rise;

They may hide the land of the glory

From our faithless wandering eyes.

But the Spirit within us fails not

Forever to tell of Him;

And His Face is seen in its beauty

When all is dim.

In the dungeons and in the deserts

Have Thy saints, by the world despised,

With joy untold and unmeasured,

Looked on the Face of Christ.

In the torture or in the fire,

‘Midst the scorn and the hate of men,

They have seen but the light of His Presence

Around them then.

O Lord, we adore Thee and bless Thee,

That we in Thy Hands of might

Are the chords whereupon Thou makest

The music of Thy delight―

Whereon Thou wilt sound forever

In wondrous and glorious tone,

The Name of Thy Son beloved,

His Name alone.

What rocks it that cold and worthless

And wayworn my heart may be,

If the love that came down from Heaven

Flows back to the Lord from me?

A glorious tide of worship

Unsilenced by sin and by death;

Sweet melody made in the cornet

By God’s own breath.”

LET us not think of these experiences as the ground for our belief in the truth that the children of God, having received His Spirit, are one with Christ it glory.

To the Abbess Gertrude the experience was doubt less known before the truth stood revealed to her plainly in the Word of God. But it is well to have our faith founded on the unchangeable, infallible Word, which assures us (however dim and imperfect our realization of it may be) that Christ and His members are one, and that all who believe, being baptized by the One Spirit, are baptized into the One Body.

And in answer to faith will the blessed experiences follow, and the fruit be abundant.

“It was on the second Sunday in the fast,” wrote the Abbess Gertrude again, that these words were sung, ‘I have seen the Lord face to face.’ And my soul was illumined by a marvelous light, the light ‘as of a stone most precious,’ the light of the Lord’s presence manifested to me.

“The Lord lifted up the light of His countenance upon me, that Face whereof Bernard said, ‘It is not formed, but it formeth.’ A Face that did not blind the bodily eyes, but rejoiced the eyes of the soul-the Face, the radiance whereof is Love.

“Thine eyes looked upon me, and the gladness of that look flowed in mighty power through heart and soul and mind. It was as if from those Divine eyes, a wondrous light that made all fair upon which it fell, passed into me and filled all my being, and worked in all my members, and I had as it were passed away, lost in the fullness of that glory.

“What more can I say of that sweet and blessed countenance that then shone full upon my soul! For truth to tell, it seems to me that by the gift of speech of all the tongues of men I could never in all the days of my life have been persuaded that the soul could see Thee in so marvelous a manner, even in the glory of Heaven.

“It needed Thy grace, my God, to teach me this by the experience of that hour. And if the sweetness of Thy kiss is yet a further joy than the gladness of Thy countenance, I truly say that it needs Thy Divine might to sustain him who receives it—else were it not possible he should remain a moment longer in the body-though well I know that Thy power, Thine unfathomable might, and Thy boundless love can do all things—and measure the abundance of the revelation to him to whom it is granted.

“For have not I known, and often known, the tender love of Thy kiss, so that at times when I sat alone, and my heart waited upon Thee, oftentimes during the reading of the Psalms, Thou didst again and again give the kiss of peace to my soul—a kiss sweeter than the odors of all precious ointment—a kiss which is the spiced wine of Thy joy.

“And for this, and for all Thy grace, the secret working whereof is known to Thee alone, be the blessed love offered up to Thee, which in Thy dwelling-place above the Heavens each Person of Thy Godhead transmitteth to another, the perfect, the eternal Love.”

Is it not so, that the love ascending to God from the heart of His child is but the Divine love shed abroad in the heart, and flowing back to Him from whom it came? The blessed answer to the prayer of Jesus, “I have declared unto them Thy Name, and will declare it, that the love wherewith Thou hast loved Me may be in them, and I in them.”

“My soul praiseth Thee,” wrote the Abbess Gertrude again, “my soul praiseth Thee, O my God, my Lord, my Creator, acknowledging to Thee from the depths of my heart how marvelous is Thy mercy, a fountain forever flowing down to one utterly unworthy. O Thou blessed lover of my soul, I thank Thee with all the powers of my being for Thine immeasurable love, Thine unwearied patience.

“Thou didst bear with me, and wait for me, through the years of my childhood and my youth, till near the end of my twenty-fifth year. Through years when I was dazzled by worldly things, and senseless as to Thee. Years, when in thought and word and work, with no pricks of conscience, I was led simply and solely by anything that came into my mind, following my own will and pleasure as far as I had the means of doing so.

“But by the natural distaste Thou gavest me to much that was evil, and a natural desire for some things that were good, and by reproof and persuasion of others, or by circumstances around, Thou didst in Thy mercy preserve me frequently from doing that which otherwise I would have done. Yet as regards Thee, I was living as a heathen amongst heathens who had never heard that Thou condemnest that which is evil and rewardest that which is good.

“And thus as the fine gold shines more brightly when colors are placed beside it, and specially when laid upon a ground of black, so does the Divine glory, of Thy goodness shine the brighter beside the blackness of my unthankful life. For Thou in Thy great majesty, in Thy Divine goodness, couldst only give the gifts that were worthy of Thee, and I in my inborn baseness and gracelessness had naught to bring in return but that which the vilest sinner has to bring, my wretchedness and helplessness.

“And when Thou, O my Saviour, whose habitation is in the palace of the Father’s love, high above all heavens, in the sweet eternal rest, when Thou in Thy marvelous grace didst come and ask for a lodging in my poor small dwelling-place, did I, an unfriendly, a graceless hostess, so ill entertain Thee, so little consider Thy presence, that I might well out of natural kindness have bestowed more care and thought upon a leper who would have cost me much toil and trouble, but whom need had driven to take refuge in my home.

“And though, O Lord, Thou who didst clothe the stars with glory, hast comforted my heart with the tenderness of Thy love, so that I found more delight and joy in Thy companionship than I could have found in the wide world, had I wandered in search of delight from the sunrise to the sunset; yet I, unthankful and evil, have so cast contempt upon Thee, and so put Thee to shame, that I yet could seek for pleasures in outward things, and ofttimes choose the leeks and onions rather than Thy Heavenly Manna.

“And when I have distrusted Thy promises, my hope grew dim, even as if Thou wert a man who could lie, and be false to the word He had spoken.”

Chapter 7.

The Path Through the River.

“A homeless Stranger amongst us came

To this land of death and mourning—

He walked in a path of sorrow and shame,

Through insult, and hate, and scorning.

A Man of Sorrows, of toil, and tears,

An outcast Man and a lonely—

But He looked on me, and through endless years

Him must I love, Him only.

Then from this sad and sorrowful land,

From this land of tears He departed;

But the light of His eyes and the touch of His Hand

Had left me broken-hearted.

And I slave to Him as He turned His Face

From the land that was mine no longer—

The land I had loved in the ancient days,

Ere I knew a love that was stronger.

And I would abide where He abode,

And follow His steps for ever;

His people my people, His God my God,

In the land beyond the river.

And when He died would I also die;

Far dearer a grave beside Him,

Than a kingly place amongst living men,

The place which they denied Him.

Then afar and afar did I follow Him on

To the land where He was going—

To the depths of glory beyond the sun,

Where the golden fields were glowing.

The golden harvest of endless joy,

The joy He had sown in weeping―

How can I tell the blest employ,

The songs of that glorious reaping

The recompense sweet, the full reward,

Which the Lord His God has given―

At rest beneath the wings of the Lord,

At home in the courts of Heaven.”

GERTRUDE and Mechthild spoke together of this sorrow of heart which filled them when they thought of the evil return they made to the Lord for His love and goodness.

But Mechthild told Gertrude that the Lord had comforted her when she was thus cast down and was confessing to Him the coldness of her love, and He had shown her that the fullness of love was in Him and not in her, and that it was in Him that the love of her heart was offered up to the Father, and thus it was accepted by the Father, and well-pleasing in His sight.

For it was as if a drop of water fell into a river wherein it would be lost, and would do as the river did, and flow on no more apart, but one with the river.

“And thus,” she said, “the Lord further taught me that all love and all good works and thoughts that would be called mine are not mine, but His; that it is as one who wears a garment, wherein he works and acts, so am I but the garment, and the Lord it is who works and speaks and loves. And when there is a burden to bear, it is He who bears it, and it is He who feeds and guards and comforts the soul He loves. And as a fish in the water, and a bird in the air, so is the soul in her element in Him.”

Thus did Gertrude and Mechthild speak often together of their Beloved, and comforted themselves together, till the day came, on the 19th of November, year unknown, when Mechthild “departed to be with the Bridegroom,” repeating His Name only as long as she could speak.

And a few years later, A.D. 1330, also on the 19th of November, the Abbess Gertrude “was released from the dungeon of the body and the earthly life.” She had been paralyzed so that she could not speak, but she had written before her illness on her tablet that on the day of her death—according to the Lord’s promise—she should see the glory of the Father, and know the sweetness of the love which is not only unspeakable, but inconceivable to men.

And she was laid to rest in peace and in quiet in the old convent amongst the green hills, with the hazy mountains in the background, and the little town of Eisleben in its hollow on the one side, and the town of Mansfeld with its feudal castle on the other.

And after this the evil days began. For the Emperor Lewis of Bavaria had been excommunicated by the Pope, and declared a heretic, and the Pope had stirred up against him those amongst the German princes who were willing to own the Pope as “the supreme ruler of every human being.” And the Emperor Lewis had not only refused thus to acknowledge the Pope, but he had become the defender of the “heretic “Marsilius, who believed as the” Waldensian Brethren “had believed before him, and as Wiclif in England believed afterward.

And during the reign of the Emperor Lewis the “heresies” of the “Brethren” had so spread in Germany that it is recorded in a chronicle of the year 1317 that they prevailed as widely amongst priests as amongst laymen, amongst the secular clergy as amongst the monks and nuns. And therefore it had now become a fact that the mass of Germany was in open rebellion against Rome.

In fact all the German cities which were not under patrician rule were declared enemies of Rome and defenders of the “heretic” emperor. It is true that it was not necessarily from religious motives that resistance was made against the assumption of supreme temporal authority by the Pope. But the fact of the spread and prevalence of the teaching of the “Waldensian Brethren” through the whole of Germany and of Western Europe remains a fact.

And when at last actual war broke out between the loyal subjects of the Emperor Lewis and the party of the “Parson-emperor” who had been nominated by the Pope, fire and sword were carried into many peaceful regions, many homesteads and religious houses were sacked and burned.

Amongst these was the convent of Hellfde, which twelve years after the death of the Abbess Gertrude was utterly destroyed. Only the site now remains amongst the miners’ cottages.

And after this there swept over Germany a sea of calamities, so that people thought the end of the world was come. After a great comet had been seen which filled them with awe and terror, there came plagues of insects which stripped bare the trees and gardens and fields. And there followed terrible earthquakes. And then came the Black Death, which desolated not Germany alone, but other lands, and everywhere was mourning and dread of what yet might come.

And then things went back to their former state, and men who should have thanked God for the removal of the terrible plagues hardened their hearts like Pharaoh, and turned in rage and fury against the Jews, who had, they said, caused these calamities. And they turned also in fiercer rage and fury against the “Gospellers,” the “Friends of God,” who believed in the same Lord of grace and love as Mechthild and Gertrude, and who preached all over the land and in other lands the Gospel which He had brought to His children in the convent of Hellfde.

And from one end of Germany to the other the fires burnt fiercely around the stakes where the “Friends of God” were praising Him with their last breath. And the enemies of God believed that the victory was won, and the words of grace were silenced.

But 153 years after the Abbess Gertrude had “seen the glory of the Father,” a child was born in the town of Eisleben, near the old convent of Hellfde; the child of miners who worked amongst the hills so familiar to Gertrude and to Mechthild. And as he grew up, and desired himself to live as a monk in a convent, he read the old books of the teachers and preachers who had learned from the lips of the “Friends of God.”

And he too saw, as Gertrude had seen, that “in the place of all his shortcomings and his unworthiness was the mighty love which abides in its fullness in Him who sitteth at the right hand of God.” And he went forth to face the world and the fallen Church, and to face persecution and death, with the same glad tidings as those which Gertrude in her “still hours” had written on her tablet, so that the light which the enemy had thought to quench shone forth again, and we are walking in it now.

The stream had flowed on through hidden places, and the “Friends of God” had prayed and wept in secret, and rejoiced in secret that some were left with whom they could speak freely of the free grace of God. Awl at last it was to become as a great river from which the nations might drink, as we do, if Christ is leading us by the same still waters.

Let us cease to think of the Reformation as a bare protest against Catholic doctrine and practice, and ascribe to Protestantism all the light, and to Roman Catholicism all the darkness. Let us rather look at it as the time when God drew forth to the light the hidden treasures which had lain buried under heaps of human inventions and superstitions, and set free from their shackles those who had been tied and bound in the iron chains of Popery.

And let us remember that the life and power of Protestant Christianity is not to be found in the just and necessary protest against the sins and delusions of Rome, but in that intercourse of the heart with God, by the power of the Holy Ghost, which teaches us the grace denied and ignored in a religion of external works and forms.

The saints and martyrs of the Reformation were men inspired rather by the love of Christ than by hatred to Rome. And their glorious protest became a dead and shriveled form when it was handed down to men who had a name to live and were dead. The records of negative Protestantism are blurred and blotted pages, which would disgrace the history of many a heathen, all the more so because of the orthodoxy of which they boast.

Yet the river of God flowed on, watering the bare deserts of Protestant ages as before the tangled wilderness of mediaeval Christianity. And the Lord raised up His messengers, as the prophets in old times, to preach to dead Protestants the words of life which they needed for their salvation as much as the worshippers of images and relics whom they despised and condemned.

But these messengers were those who protested yet more firmly against the superstitious of Rome, because they had seen and known and loved Him whom Rome had dishonored. They preached the Christ whose blessed work was cast into the background, the God whom the teaching of Rome had made a liar.

And were it not that the stream of life is flowing still, where should we find the living truth, Jesus, who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, amongst all the Gospels of man’s invention in the nineteenth century?

Chapter 8.

An Oxford Undergraduate.

IT was about the year 1280, the same year when “in the twilight of the dawn” Gertrude von Hackeborn first heard the voice of Christ, that a son was born to a Yorkshire gentleman whose name was William Rolle.

This boy, who was named Richard, grew up for a while in the old manor house on the moor-side, and learned to love the woods and dales, and the moorland streams. And also he betook himself to the reading of such books as were within his reach. But books were few, and few were those who could read them; and the boy, as he read on, only became aware that there were wide fields of knowledge far beyond his tether, and he was hungering to learn more, and there were none to teach him.

But about thirty years before he was born, there had died at Rouen a learned man who had studied at the great University of Paris. This man, Master William of Durham, had left Paris in the year 1229, because of a great falling-out between the students and citizens of Paris, and he had after that time traveled about in France, and had also spent some time in Oxford, and lastly, after having been made Rector of Weremouth, he had made a journey to Rome, and had died on his homeward way in the year 1249.

And because he was a man “eminently learned, and abounding in great Revenues,” he bequeathed to the University of Oxford the sum of 310 marks, for the purchase of houses and maintenance of masters, so that students from Durham and from Yorkshire might have the means of studying at Oxford at small expense. And in the year of Richard Rolle’s birth the scholars of William of Durham were so many that though living in different houses, they already formed a college, with a master, and a college library. This college, called at first the Hall of William of Durham, was afterward, when one building was erected for all, called University College, though it went by the name of the College of William of Durham as late as the reign of Elizabeth.

Now when the Archdeacon of Durham, Master Thomas Neville, had found that the son of his friend William Rolle desired to learn philosophy and divinity, and ancient tongues, he sent him with his father’s consent to the University of Oxford, whilst he was yet young. And though he rejoiced to go there, he grieved to leave behind him the woods and dales, and the old home, and above all the sister he loved so much. But he desired to learn more of the knowledge of God, and therefore he set forth on the long and unknown journey.

Now, whilst in the year 1830 there were but 1000 students at Oxford, there had been, during the reign of King Henry III., as many as 15,000 at a time. Some say that the numbers rose from time to time to 30,000, so that Oxford was for a while the great university of the world.

For many learned men, besides the aforesaid William of Durham, had fled from Faris in King Henry’s reign, on account of the feuds and riots. And King Henry had invited them to Oxford, where they taught and lectured, and wrote books, and students from distant countries came to Oxford, and also amongst the monks and friars who had stately houses there, were men who were renowned in many lands for their learning and their knowledge.

And therefore during the reign of King Henry, Oxford had become very famous, and the names of the great men of that time will always be remembered, there and elsewhere.

When Richard Rolle went to Oxford, the grave of Roger Bacon was but newly made in the Church of the Greyfriars, and Duns Scotus, who was a few years older than Richard, and William Omani, who was just of his age, must have been students there at the same time with himself.

But the Oxford of Roger Bacon was a very different Oxford from that which we know or remember. The old Gray colleges — can we imagine them new and white? Yet they were not even white and new—they were yet in the future—and it is only the old castle, with its Norman keep, and some of the ancient churches that remain to us from the old Oxford of Henry III.

When Richard Rolle first threaded the narrow noisy streets of this city of scholars, it was to find his way to the “Hall” in which he was to lodge—one of the 200 or 300 lodging-houses in which the scholars crowded together, two or three in one room-often two sharing a bed. Nor were they the students only who shared the bare disorderly rooms. They were inhabited also, though in defiance of the rules of the Halls, by dogs and hawks and ferrets, and live stock of many objectionable sorts.

And the floors were swamped with wine and beer, and the broken furniture told of many fights and savage games. For it was even needful to forbid the wild dancing and wrestling of the students in the dining-halls and chapels—in the latter ease “lest the images should be hurt” by the rough horse-play, and the hurling of balls and stones, and bolts shot from cross-bows; or if in the streets and fields, it was forbidden to shoot arrows, or stones, or earth.

Amongst the scholars’ pastimes, forbidden soon after those days, was “that most vile and horrid sport of shaving beards, and also the haunting of taverns and spectacles,” and all games played for money, even chess and hazard.

It must have been often to warm their frozen limbs that the scholars danced and fought, for in their rooms they had no fires, and could only warm themselves in the Common Hall, where they studied and dined, and where they would fain have lingered round the charcoal fire, had they been allowed to rain there. But the rules forbade such lingering, and because candles were dear, being two-pence a pound, they were sent early to bed, cold and often hungry.

Later on, when the first colleges were built, there was a fire in the dining-hall on great festivals only, “in honor of God and His mother;” and before the colleges existed in the form of buildings in which the scholars lodged together, the Common Hall, where the scholars from the various lodging-houses called Halls met together for meals, had sometimes but a charcoal fire in the middle of the stone floor, with a hole above to serve as chimney.

It was not to many of the scholars a life of special hardship, for large numbers of them came from poor and rude homes; and many of those who belonged to the monastic colleges had learned to endure hardness in the convents from which they had been sent, for all the monasteries had not as yet become wealthy and luxurious, and places of feasting and drinking and soft living.

If the students went early to bed, they also learned early to rise, for lectures began at six or seven in the morning, dinner was at ten, supper at five. During dinner the Bible was read aloud, and generally speaking, whenever the silence was broken, Latin was spoken-sometimes French. The scholars also went to mass, and to various services during the day, and it was on these occasions that they were apt to dance and fight, and play wild games in the churches and churchyards.

Those ancient churches of Oxford must often have resounded with shouts and songs in various tongues, and many were the fights and frays between Northerners and Southerners, between French and English, and between Christians (so-called) and Jews. For the Jews had a well-peopled quarter in the old city, where they had a synagogue and stately stone houses, and because they were so many, and so wealthy, they stood in little fear of the Christians, but would mock and gibe at their graven images, and their processions and relics. And thus in the labyrinth of dark and narrow streets there were often riots and bloodshed, to the delight of the boy students, and to the terror of the citizens.

Chapter 9.

The Oxford of the Monks.

BUT the Oxford that was enclosed by the strong walls and towers that protected it was not merely a labyrinth of narrow streets. Though the beautiful colleges of later days were not yet founded, there were large and fine old churches and priories within the walls; and in the meadows outside, the stately Augustinian Abbey of Osney, and the Cistercian Abbey of Rewley. And there were houses belonging to the great abbeys in other parts of England, to which their monks were sent up for study at Oxford; and there was the royal palace of Beaumont, the birthplace of Richard Cœur de Lion; and the great houses of the wealthy barons, and of the Knights Hospitaillers, and of the rich citizens.

So that Oxford was already becoming a city of palaces, and some of the peculiar beauty of later Oxford was but a reproduction of the beauty of olden days. When we walk under the elms of Christ Church meadow, and along the green aisles of Magdalene water walks, we can imagine the “pleasant meadow walks planted with elms “which surrounded the magnificent abbeys of older Oxford, “which were very pleasant, both in respect of the chinking rivulets running about them, as also for the shady groves and walks encompassing them.”

For these abbeys were amongst the most magnificent, not in England only, but in all Christendom, and the monks lived in state and splendor, exercising a charity which truly began at home, “for,” says the Chronicle, “thus we see whatsoever heart could wish, these monks did enjoy, and so far did they proceed, that considering the strictness of their rule which chiefly bound them to their cloister, they did, both to exercise their bodies and make the tediousness of their life seem more pleasant, expend much time and money in finishing of pleasant walks by the river’s side, as also orchards and arbours that were divided with cunning meanders, as also fish-ponds, dovecots, and what not.”

And in the quiet cloisters of New College and of Magdalene we see revived the ancient cloisters of the convents, where on wet days, or in the heat of summer, the monks took their daily walks, and made their processions at holy seasons.

But scarcely a trace now remains of these monastic palaces to remind modern Oxford that once they existed.

In the century at the end of which Richard Rolle went up to Oxford, the great buildings had grown up on all sides. It was when Richard was nine years old that the bones of S. Frideswide were removed from the old priory to the stately shrine where they still repose. And Osney, the great abbey of the Austin monks, had been rebuilt with marvelous splendor just before the birth of Richard, with an abbey church “excelling in a more than ordinary fashion, and not only the envy of other religious houses in England, but also beyond the seas; being the admiration of foreigners that came to the university, by reason of the exquisiteness and variety of every window, of the pillars and statues, and also by reason of two stately towers, inviting those outlanders that were ingenious in draft to copy it forth.”

There did Richard Rolle look with awe at the figures of saints and kings, not yet, as afterward described, of “antique and venerable aspect,” but even whilst new and unstained by time, standing in solemn grandeur in the dim light of the windows, “in every pane of which was depicted by the fancy of the limner the bishops and abbots” who ranked with the saints and kings.

And the Abbot of Osney, who lived in royal state, was a Baron in Parliament, who gave daily doles of bread and meat to multitudes of the poor and to pilgrims. So that when Henry III, had once commanded that 10,000 poor people should be brought to him to receive alms, and it was told him there were not so many to be found in the whole province, he answered, “That is wonderful! are not all ye sufficient to gather 10,000 when the Abbot of Osney can gather together 15,000 at his beck? “How came this stately abbey, with its rich revenues, to rise from the meadows of the Isis? There, in the church, on the north side of the high altar, was a stone image of the “pious foundress,” and in the wall of the arch over her tomb was a painting to tell the tale of her pious act. Thus is it recorded in the Chronicle: ―

“A noble lady, Editha Forne, sometime the mistress of King Henry I., and later the wife of Robert d’Oilly, was wont to recreate and solace herself in the pleasant meadows near the strong Castle of Oxford where she lived, and of which her husband’s uncle was the builder.

“And it came to pass, as upon an evening she with her attendants walked by the river’s side, she beheld a great company of pies gathered together on a tree, making a hideous noise with their chattering, which she, beholding, did with slight notice pass it by for that time; but the next evening, walking that way again with her maidens, as she did afterward the third time, found again the pies on the same tree, and making the like noise as before.”

The Chronicle having informed us that Editha was “a woman given to no less superstition than credulity,” further relates that she became aware that it was to her the pies were chattering so eagerly, “with which she was much perplexed, and wondered what the meaning might be.” She therefore, on returning home, sent for her confessor, one Radulphus, a canon of S. Frideswyde’s, and demanded of him what it was the pies desired to tell her.

“And Radulphus,” continues the Chronicle (“the wiliest pye of all,” adds the copyist) “told her he could not directly resolve her at that time, but if she would walk there again the next day, he would wait upon her, and view the matter himself, and then give her an exact account.

“That time being come, they all walked the same way, where they found the pies again as before, and making the like noise. Radulphus seemed at the present to be amazed, but after mature deliberation told her, ‘O madam, these are no pies, but so many poor souls in Purgatory, that do beg and make all this complaint for succor and relief, and they, knowing you to be pitiful, do direct their clamors to you, hoping that by your charity you would bestow something both worthy of their relief, as also for the welfare of yours and your posterity’s souls, as your husband’s uncle did in founding the college and church of S. George.’

“These words being finished, she replied, ‘And is it so indeed? now, depardieu, if old Robin my husband will concede to my request, I shall do my best endeavor to be a means to bring these wretched souls to rest.’

“And thereupon, relating the whole matter to her husband, did so much, by her continual and frequent importunities to him, bring the business about.”

And thus the great abbey arose, to be rebuilt and enlarged by means of another “wily pye” during the thirty years preceding the birth of Richard Rolle.

For in the year 1247 the Pope’s legate “did by his writing, dated at this place the 4th of May, in the fourth year of Pope Innocent IV., proclaim forty days’ indulgence and forgiveness of sins to all that would confer something toward the sumptuous building then going forward at Osney. Whereupon many charitable people, upon those propositions, did strive who should outgo each other in gifts.”

Nor was the sumptuous abbey the only possession of the Austin monks at Oxford. The Priory of S. Frideswide, which had been burnt in the days of Cœur de Lion, had been rebuilt with great magnificence in the reign of King John. The monks had also their colleges of S. George and of S. Mary. In the motley crowd that threaded the narrow streets of Oxford were these monks to be seen, in a dress which must have recalled the “chattering pies.” It was a long white coat, a linen surplice to the knees, with a short black cloak and little hood.

There were also the black monks of the Order of S. Benedict, who had their college, called Gloucester College, which Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, had built for his private house; but after it had been tenanted by Knights Hospitalers, and then by white friars, it was made into a college or “nursery” for the black monks of S. Peter’s Abbey at Gloucester. And Richard Rolle must have been a looker on at the treat inception feast held there in the year 1298.

And whilst he was at Oxford, he saw the great new buildings rising up, which the black monks were founding for “nurseries” tor the Benedictines of Westminster Abbey, Ramsey, Winchcombe, Glastonbury, and other great abbeys of their order, such as St. Alban’s, Reading, Canterbury, and Norwich. And their building of Durham College was also only just completed.

And again there were the white monks, or Cistercians, who, after having built the magnificent Abbey of Rieuvalx in Yorkshire, and Waverley Abbey in Surrey, and others beside, began to live in luxury and idleness, so that they were noted for their evil ways.

“For at the first,” says the Chronicle, “they had practiced great poverty and strictness of life, and refused all things that savoured of the world, living by the labor of their hands. But in time, when they had fished good possessions and fair habitations, they threw away their nets, and betook themselves to several sorts of vice, as covetousness, robbing the poor, profaning the Sabbath, and high feeding. And this their wicked course of life having come to the knowledge of Pope Honorius III., he caused a council to be made up of this order, and to assemble at Oxford, so as to reform their abuses.”

And shortly before the birth of Richard Rolle, about fifty years after this council, they became desirous to regain their repute, not only as to their behavior, but their learning. And to encourage them in this reformation did Edmund Plantagenet, Earl of Cornwall, build for them, in the year 1280, a stately abbey near the Abbey of Osney, and also by the riverside; and which, like Osney, “was encompassed with rivulets, pleasant walks, and fish-ponds.”

This great Abbey of Rewley was one of the most beautiful of the abbeys of Christendom, and no doubt in the details of its architecture resembled the monastic college of Ashridge, also founded by Edmund Earl of Cornwall, and completed in the year 1285, three or four years after the completion of Rewley.

And besides these great abbeys and colleges of the monks, there were other large and beautiful houses, which were rising up on the banks of the Isis since the great era in the history of the Roman Church in England, known as the Coming of the Friars.

The first to arrive in England had been the Dominican, or black friars, mendicants, and preachers. It was in the year 1224 that they first came in sight of the city of scholars. “And these said friars, on seeing the city before them, prayed to God with hands lifted up to Heaven, that through His mercy they might be received with courtesy by the Oxford students. And at their entrance they applied themselves to the grandies of the university, and to the canons of S. Frideswyde’s and of Osney.”

And it would seem that their “learned parts in philosophy and divinity” won them favor with the grandies, and their “simple and saint-like carriage” with the canons.

“At length diving into the favor of all persons in these parts, they obtained a seat in the Jewry, to the end that by their exemplary carriage and gifts of preaching the Jews of Oxford might be converted to the Christian faith.”

And later they removed to a “pleasant isle,” where they had larger schools, called “Theological and Philosophical,” and a library large and full of books, large and beauteous which was finished in the year 1262.

“For,” says the Chronicle, “they finding benefactors, and gaining worldly pelf, acquired these larger habitations by their craft and industry, and the subtle dealings whereby they procured riches from their admirers,” and thus they built this church, fair and stately, with cloisters and schools.

“And in their schools,” adds the Chronicle, “did they buzz in the ears of their admirers upstart notions in philosophy and divinity.”

In their first house in the Jewry was the “Mad Parliament” held, in the year 1238. In their church on the isle was buried in 1312 The headless body of Piers Gaveston.

And after the black friars there came the Gray friars, otherwise Franciscans or Minorites—mostly Italian, though three of their priests were English. In the year 1224, sent by Francis their founder, did they land in England, and in that same year they appeared at Oxford. Thus is their story related.

The two English friars, Richard Ingeworth and Richard Devon, “taking their journey from London to Oxford, did like innocent and harmless wretches wander out of their way, and at length being within six miles of Oxon as the night drew on, and the waters were high, they went to a certain grange of the Benedictine monks of Abingdon, seated in a most vast and solitary wood.

“And the said friars, humbly knocking at the door, desired them for God’s love to house them for that night, lest they should perish either by hunger, cold, or the fury of beasts in the wood. But the porter who came to the door, perceiving their dirty faces, ragged vestments, and uncouth speech, looked upon cal as a couple of jesters, or jongleurs. And therefore running in and telling the Prior who they were, he caused them to be brought in that they might show sport to them.

“But the friars, looking steadfastly and gravely upon them, said that they were mistaken in them, for they were not such kind of people, but the servants of God, and professors of an apostolic life.”

This was evidently a bitter disappointment to the Prior and the monks, for they thereupon “vilely spurned at them, and caused them to be thrust out of the gate.”

The poor friars then betook themselves to the wood, to find a sleeping-place under some tree or thicket. But a young monk, more tender-hearted than his brethren, went secretly to the porter, and desired him, when the Prior and monks were gone to bed, to find the friars, and take them to the hayloft, where the kind young monk “carried to them bread and drink, bade them good-night, and devoutly commended himself to their prayers.”

It would appear that the young monk having now gone to bed, was troubled with a “dreadful dream,” in which he saw that the Prior, the sacrist, and the cellarer were, by the command of Christ Himself, hanged upon the elm tree before the cloister—and that he, the young monk himself, was claimed by S. Francis to be henceforth of his order.

And in the morning when he went to, the hayloft, the friars were gone, and “were on their way to Oxon, discoursing of holy matters as they went, and praying to the ‘Mother of Mercy’ to prosper their designs.”

And on reaching Oxford they went first to the house of the Black Friars in the Jewry, and then did they present themselves to King Henry III. in his palace of Beaumont, who liked them well, and permitted them to settle in a house in Oxford. After this the Gray Friars found friends and benefactors, and they built houses and schools, and continued their building till the end of the century.

And though at first their founder, S. Francis, had taught them to despise the learning of the schools, they became renowned for their scholarship and their skill in philosophy; and the great Bishop of Lincoln, Robert Grosstete, taught in their schools, and learned persons from amongst them were sent from Oxford to teach philosophy and theology at Lyons and other places; and students came to be taught in their schools at Oxford, from France and Italy, from Spain and Portugal, from Germany, from Scotland, and from Ireland. And of their order was the “admirable Doctor,” the marvelous Roger Bacon, who died just before the time when Richard Rolle must have set off on his journey from the Yorkshire dales to the great city of Oxford.

But the Friar Agnell, the first provincial master of their order in England, who had come to Oxford straight from his master S. Francis, was dismayed to find what were the consequences of his invitation of Robert Grosstete and of other learned men to teach in his schools. For he himself was but a deacon, and “of no literature,” and he knew not what it was which his Master Francis had forbidden, and which he himself had encouraged. “For,” says the Chronicle, “he never himself smelt of an academy, or scarce tasted of human learning.”

But he was soon to learn what was the fruit of the Forbidden tree. “For on a certain day, he being willing to understand what progress his scholars made, in literature, entered this school, and heard their disputing eagerly, and making queries whether there was a God!’ And with angry words he flung himself on a sudden out of the school, repenting withal that he had erected, this school, wherein were discussed such vain and frivolous arguments. And he gent ten marks sterling to the Court of Rome to have the decretals corrected that so his said scholars should lay aside their sophisms and apply themselves to the study of the decretals only.”

But Friar Agnell had made his discovery too late—and his scholars continued their disputatious, and they studied Aristotle, and they fought fiercely over the question whether general ideas have any existence outside of the minds of men, and they dived into mathematics and optics, and geography and grammar, and astronomy and astrology, and chronology and history, and logic and metaphysics.

And it was rumoured that Roger Bacon could make a powder that would kill and destroy by exploding with a great noise, and that he, could see things double their size by looking at them through mystical glasses—and that he could make the moon and the planets look as if they were come down to be near the earth—and he could make heavy things move about only by heating water till it turned to steam, so that he said ships and cars might move without any force of man or beast.

To such uncanny lengths had the simple disciples of Friar Agnell rushed forward, from the moment when he departed from the injunctions of Francis, his master.

Nor had they remembered the lessons of poverty and hardship which they had brought with them from Assisi, for in time their “pleasant seat without the wall, and remote from the hubbub of the city,” differed very widely from the thatched huts of Porticella. Beside it “ran a pleasant rivulet, called Trill Mill Stream, where they had a water-mill to grind their corn, and a large plot of ground partly enclosed with the said rivulet, whereon was so pleasant a grove of trees, divided into several walks, ambits, and recesses, as also a garden and orchard adjoining, that by the inhabitants of Oxon it was called Paradise. And as for their building, it was stately and magnificent, their church large, and their refectory, cloister, and libraries all proportionable thereunto, not to be equaled with others in Oxon, either college or convent, except S. Frideswyde’s and Osney.”

But we have not yet done with the Friars. For after the Franciscans, there arrived at Oxford the White Friars or Carmelites, to whom a house was granted by the keeper of Oxford Castle in the year 1254. And they also began to build, having procured a site for a “fair and large convent, and also for walks and places of pleasure. And there they erected buildings, and planted gardens and walks,” in which they were walking and fishing when Richard-Rolle was an Oxford scholar.

But a few years later even their fair house and pleasant walks sufficed them not. For it came to pass that in the year 1304 King Edward I. took with him to Scotland one of these friars, “by reason that he was accounted in his time the most famous poet of this nation, purposely that he should write poetically of his victories that he should obtain there.” And the friar, Robert Baston, wrote with “such ingenuity” on these matters, that he obtained favor from his prince.

And afterward Edward II, also took the poet with him to Scotland, and when he was defeated and put to flight by Robert Bruce, Baston told Edward that if he would call on the mother of God for mercy, he should find favor. And thereupon Edward made a promise to her that, if he should escape from the hands of his enemies, he would erect some house in England for the poor Carmelites.

And having safely arrived in England, though with great loss, he was reminded of his promise, and Baston and others persuaded him to give to the said Carmelites his palace in Oxford― “the fair palace” in which Cœur de Lion was born. “And the king, by divers solicitations and fair promises of his soul’s health, did give them the said mansion.” The king had perhaps not yet discovered that his poet, whilst captive for a while in the hands of Robert Bruce, had turned his talents to good account by writing poems in honor of the victories of his conqueror.

“Thus,” says the Chronicle, “we see these Carmelites, who originally lived in deserts and solitary places, did by insinuating themselves into the affections of people, and hearing confessions (though forbidden to do so by the Archbishop of Canterbury), procure riches, and obtain a seat in the most noted place (except one) in the learned world. Those that some years before did profess poverty and great austerity of life, did now obtain land and houses, such that were not only low and poor, most fit for mendicants but the stately hall or palace of a king.

“And indeed, to say the truth, the benefaction was noted by understanding men to be very unreasonable, or rather a weakness in the king to be so fooled, and much was written and preached against the friars for this cause. But notwithstanding all this ado, they, as they had obtained it, so they kept it, having procured from Pope John a bull, whereby this their seat was confirmed to them.

“And where stood the chamber in which Cœur de Lion was born, they built their Campanile, which, with no little pride, they would show to strangers at their coming to this place.” And there they had a library, a large chamber fitted up “with divers pews or desks,” where their books were carefully preserved, and kept far more free from dust or worms than in the convents of the Black and Gray Friars. They had also a cloister, and walks, and a stately hall or refectory, where divers kings had kept their Christmastide with great solemnity; and likewise they had a large and beautiful church, with a fair steeple and bells.

“And so continually enriching themselves, and replenishing their bags by insinuating into the favor of ignorant people, did they live in their royal mansion, situated beyond compare for a wholesome air and delightful prospect.”

And lastly came the Austin Friars, for whom a wealthy knight, Sir John de Handlow, built “a large and fair mansion and church with stone out of Shot-over quarry, about the time of Richard Rolle’s birth. And these friars had many quarrels with the Black and Gray Friars, and also they hated those of the new sect called Lollards, who began to spread and to teach in Oxford.”

And besides these, there were lesser orders of friars, for whom “fair houses” were built just before Richard came from Yorkshire, or were being built whilst he was there. Of these latter was a house built for the Trinitarian Friars by Edmund, Earl of Cornwall. These Trinitarian Friars wore white habits, “with red and sky-blue crosses thereon, the three colors to represent the Trinity, and the third part of all gifts received by them was to be used to redeem Christians from Turks and infidels.” And the Crutched or Crossed Friars had their house also, and wore blue habits, with a red cloth cross sewed upon it.

There were also, besides the monks and friars, hermits and anchorites, who dwelt in solitary little cells standing in the fields adjoining to abbey or parish churches. “The hermits,” says the Chronicler; “spent their lives in fervent prayer against the vanities of the world, and for poor pilgrims and passengers that steered their course that way.” They were also employed in the useful occupation of “digging their own graves, and filling them up again,” which might, one would think, be rightly classed amongst the “vanities of the world,” though a sad and sombre vanity. And happily they were also employed by the city in “delving and mending highways and bridges,” receiving “some reward for their pains.”

We can now imagine something of the motley crowd which surrounded Richard Rolle-students in the dresses of many countries—friars and monks Gray, black, white and blue, and brown, and Jews in their yellow gaberdines, and knights and men-at-arms who guarded the castle, and wealthy citizens in their gay apparel, and the half-naked, ragged, starving poor.

And we can imagine how in this mixed multitude there were endless fights and uproars, and as boys were boys in those days, as in these, there was roystering and rioting, and perpetual noise of shouting and singing in all the tongues of Babel, which roused the citizens from their beds, and made them turn out sword in hand from time to time, and fight fiercely with the mad students and the outlandish men in strange apparel, who made their lives a burden to them.

So that in those olden times as in later ones, the Town and Gown riots were a dear delight to the scholars, though at times they came off beaten and wounded. Indeed, at the time when Richard was at Oxford, it was recorded that Fulk Niermit and other scholars were killed in a Town and Gown fray, and many others grievously wounded.

Such was Oxford life; but there was a side of it known to Richard Rolle which many knew not. Let Its try if we can gain a glimpse of it from these distant years.

Chapter 10

“The Joyful Sound.” (Psa. 89:15.)

IT was not, Richard says, for the study of the natural sciences, or of the law, that he had come to Oxford, but rather for the study of theology, and of the Holy Scriptures. And it would seem that he gave much time to study, and became well acquainted with the Latin tongue, possibly also with Greek and Hebrew. And new thoughts came to him, and wide unexplored fields of knowledge opened out before him, and it was like a land of wonders at which he first marveled, and which he then began in a measure to understand, and yet the more he understood the more there seemed to be which he understood not.

And the teaching which he had, seemed at times to enlighten him, and at times to bewilder him, and darken the light that he had. And, in his hours of study, he was often disturbed and distracted by the games, and noise, and jests, and tricks, of his companions; and he was also at times assailed by strange longings, for the pleasures of sin; and it seemed to him that he was being carried away by a great torrent of temptation, and he would go back to his books and seek for that which would not only be light to him, but power; and yet when he had been reading the great books of theology and the disquisitions of the theologians, he seemed to have been wandering in a dry and barren land of reasonings and of subtleties, and he became very weary and sorrowful.

And then it came to pass that in the midst of all these strivings and reasonings, there came to him he knew not how, something which was not light, or skill, or knowledge, but which was Love. It came to him, he said, “as a sound and mirth of Heaven;” and it drew his heart and soul away from the enchanted gardens of temptation, and from the dry bare fields of theology; and he scarce knew what it was, for it was something which he did not possess, but which possessed him, and transformed him into another man.

And it was with him always, but less when he was in the schools amongst the dusty books, or in his noisy room amongst the scholars, than far away in the woods and the meadows, when he was all alone.

For there were many quiet places out of reach of the clamour of the great city, where he could lie down in green pastures, beside still waters, and see all around him the beautiful and joyful things which God had made. Perhaps even now, as in days not long past, some of those quiet places remain. For there were still not many years ago, in the sunny Oxfordshire meadows, shady banks under the tall arching reeds, through which the golden sunshine fell upon the white water-lilies of the meadow trenches.

And all along beside the banks, amongst yellow flags and water-mint, the dragonflies lit upon the tall pink flowering rushes, and the lilac spikes of the water-violet, and the dark-eyed water-soldier. And down in the trenches amongst the white and yellow lilies, were the white frosted bog-bean and the yellow Villartia with its marvelous silken fringe, and the beautiful little Utricularia.

And the meadows were gay in the spring days with yellow tulips, and cowslips, and fritillaries; and along the borders by the river side, with thick beds of large forget-me-nots.

And there were no sounds that reached the ear but the song of larks and other birds, and the far-away bells of Oxford. One of those ancient bells still rings out with a solemn sound—the great Tom of Christchurch, which was once amongst the bells of Osney Abbey, Hautclere, Douce, Clement, Austin, Mary, Gabriel, and John. The name of Thomas was given to one of these, recast after the dissolution of Osney Abbey.

And as Richard sat alone in the meadows, or in the woods of Cumnor and of Bagley, he heard other sounds which reached not the ear but the soul within; “a song, inexpressibly sweet, of everlasting praise, for,” he said, “the Lord, when He had drawn me away from the sin and all the busy doings of earth, sent into the mouth of my heart and of my body a new song, that is the melody of the tone of Heaven.” And when this joy filled him, and this love encompassed him, he knew that it was JESUS.

“For,” he said, “howsoever it is of other comforts and sweetness, methinks that the sweetness which is sicker and soothfast is felt by mighty forsaking and loathing of all sin, and by inward sight of Jesus. And no comfort or sweetness, or any other manner of feeling, except if it may help and lead unto this end, to cleanness of conscience and spiritual desire of God, can be full sicker for any to rest upon.

“And what is this desire? Now soothly nothing but a loathing of all this world’s bliss, of all fleshly likings in the heart, and an earnest longing, with a thirsty yearning, to heavenly joy and endless bliss. Look after,” he wrote to a “dear friend” in later days, “no other bodily sweetness, neither sound nor savor, nor wonderful light, nor vision of angels, nor if our Lord Himself as unto thy sight should appear to thee bodily-make but little of this, but let all thy business be that thou might feel soothfastly in thy thought a loathing and a full forsaking of sin and of uncleanness, with a spiritual sight of how foul, how ugly, and how painful it is; so wilt thou turn away from wickedness of all worldly vanity, with steadfast faith, meek hope, and full desire to God.”

Thus began the revelation of Christ to the soul of Richard Rolle, and thenceforward amongst the many voices in the busy streets and halls, One voice spoke continually to him, and to Him who spoke did his heart turn with a “thirsty yearning.”

“But now you may ask,” he wrote, “whether this desire be loved of God. As unto this, I say that this desire is not properly love, but it is a beginning, for love is properly a full coupling of the loving and the loved together into one.” We with our clearer light, know that the “coupling,” the union of the soul with Christ, is not that we love Him, but that He loved us, and that by His Spirit is each member baptized into His body as the consequence of His precious blood shedding for us, and our faith in Him.

And we know that it is the sense of this, and the realization of it, of which Richard Rolle spoke, for he possessed the blessed love and joy which the sense of it gives, before he understood that the marvelous fact of the eternal union with Christ, was the underlying foundation.

And bearing in mind that it is of the realization of it that he speaks, our hearts will respond to the words that follow.

“This coupling may not be had fully in this life, but only in desire and longing thereto. For as long as we are in this life our Lord is absent from us, that we neither see Him, nor hear Him, nor feel Him as He is, and therefore we may not have the sight of His love here below in its fullness. But we have a great desire and a great yearning to be present with Him, for to see Him in His bliss, made one with Him in love.

“S. Paul saith that as long as we are in this body we are pilgrims from our Lord, that we are absent from Heaven in this exile, we walk by truth” (faith) “not by sight; that is, we live in truth, not in bodily feeling, and we dare and have goodwill to be absent from the body and present with the Lord.

“Nevertheless, for that we may not yet, we strive, whether we be absent or present, for to please Him, and to burn in this desire all things that let us from Him.”

“Can a man,” he asks, “have this desire continually in his heart or not? Thou, dear friend, thinkest ‘Nay.’ But as to this I say as me think, that so it may be. If thou were sick, thou shouldst have, as such man has, a kindly desire of bodily health continually in thy heart, whatsoever thou doest, whether thou sleep or thou wake; but not at all times alike, for if thou sleep or else waking think of some worldly thing, then hast thou this desire only in habit, not in working; but when thou thinkest of thy sickness, and of thy bodily health, then hast thou it in using. Right so spiritually is it of desire to God.”

And thus was this desire awakened, and thus did it deepen day by day as Richard was studying the ancient tongues, and wandering forth alone into “sweet and solitary places.”

And often when he went forth into the woods and meadows, he carried with him some of the words of the book in which he delighted, and which he called the “Book of the Hymns of Christ.” To us it is known as the Book of Psalms.

“For great abundance,” he said, “of ghostly comfort, and joy in God, comes in the hearts of them that says or sings the Psalms in praise of Jesus Christ. They drop sweetness in men’s souls, and pour out delight in their thoughts, and kindle their wills with the fire of love, making their hearts to burn within, so that they are fair and lovely in the eyes of Christ.”

Chapter 11.

Lights Shining in a Dark Place. (John 20:22.)

“‘Who are these who come amongst us,

Strangers to our speech and ways?

Passing by our joys and treasures,

Singing in the darkest days!

Are they pilgrims, journeying on

From a land we have not known?’

‘We are come from a far country,

From a land beyond the sun―

We are come from that great glory,

Round our God’s eternal throne:

Thence we come, and thither go,

Here no resting-place we know.

‘Far within the depth of glory,

In the Father’s house above,

We have learned His wondrous secret,

All the mystery of His love,

Known the welcome and the kiss

Of unutterable bliss.

‘We have seen the golden City

Shining as the jasper stone―

Heard the Song that fills the Heavens

Of the Man upon the throne.

Well that glorious One we know,

He has sent us here below.

‘We have drunk the living waters,

On the Tree of Life have fed,

Therefore deathless do we journey

‘Midst the dying and the dead;

And unthirsting do we stand

Here amidst the barren sand.’

‘Wherefore are ye come amongst us

From the glory to the gloom?’

‘Christ in glory breathed within us

Life, His life, and bid us come;

Here as living springs to be,

Fountains of that life are we.

‘Fountains of the life that floweth

Ever downwards from the throne,

Witnesses of that bright glory

Where, rejected, He is gone―

Sent to give the blind their sight,

Turn the darkness into light.

‘He hath sent us, that in sorrow,

In rejection, toil, and loss,

We may learn the wondrous sweetness,

The deep mystery of His cross―

Learn the depth of love that traced

That blest path across the waste.

‘He hath sent us highest honors

Of His cross and shame to win.

Bear His light through deepest darkness,

Walk in white ‘midst foulest sin.

Sing amidst the wintry gloom,

Sing the blessed songs of home.’”

BUT it was at first rather the loathing of sin, and bitter repentance, that marked the awakening of the soul of Richard Rolle; and it was only by degrees that he learned “the song of the joy of God.” For, he says, “From the beginning of the alteration in my mind and life, to the opening of the heavenly door, so that with unveiled face the eye of the heart might behold the things that are above, and see the way to seek the Beloved, and to sigh for Him, was a period of three years all but three or four months. Then, the door remaining open, up to the time that the warmth of eternal love was truly felt in the heart, about a year past away.”

Thus it would appear, if we attempt to fit together the scattered fragments of his history, his “alteration of mind” began at Oxford, and must have proceeded during the years that followed. For it was at the age of nineteen that he returned to Yorkshire, “lest he should be entangled in the snares of sin.”

By what means was it that, during his Oxford life, this change came to him—this passing of the soul from death to life?

He tells us nothing of teachers or friends, and we are left to gather from certain marks which stamp his writing, from what quarter the light shone to him. It could scarcely have been from the schools, where men were discussing whether a God existed. Could it have been from the abbeys, with their glorious churches and solemn services?

A general answer to this question is not wanting from the pages of history. It was already the case one hundred and fifty years before, that Bernard of Clairvaux lifted up his voice against the wickedness of the cloisters. “The whole Christian people, from the least to the greatest,” he said, “has conspired against God. It is not the time to say ‘as the people, so the priest,’ for the people are not even as the priest is. They are the ministers of Christ, but serve Antichrist. All that remains is, that this ‘man of sin’ should be revealed.”

But Bernard was a reformer of the Church? He would in this respect have gladly been a Reformer. But the reformation he wrought was but as a drop of pure water in an ocean of mire.

And a few years later, Cardinal Hugo, giving a parting address at Lyons to the General Council of the Church assembled there, remarked with shameless irony, that the Church dignitaries who were now leaving had been very useful to the city, for whereas there were there, when they came, three or four places of ill repute, now there was only one, but it was the whole city of Lyons, from the eastern gate to the western.

And later on, just after the death of Richard Rolle, the Rector of the University of Paris, after describing the avarice and debauchery of the highest clergy, writes― “If any is lazy, if any one hate work, he flees to the priesthood. As soon as he has attained to it, he diligently frequents taverns and houses of ill fame, and spends his time in drinking, feasting, singing, and playing at dice and games. Gorged and drunken, he fights and shouts, and makes riots, and execrates the Name of God and His saints with his most polluted lips.”

“And often,” wrote Richard Rolle himself, “do priests open to other men the gate of Heaven, whilst they for their ill life are barred out. For soothly many fail, and few are holy.”

Thus it may be supposed that it was not from the sacred precincts of the cloisters that the stream of living water flowed into the heart of Richard Rolle.

And yet, when we examine all possible channels through which God’s grace may have reached him, we find two suppositions which may cast a ray of light upon his history; and one of these is, that the Spirit of God may have spoken through faithful men in the great Abbey of Rewley.

It has been mentioned that Rewley had been built about the time of Richard’s birth by Edmund Plantagenet, Earl of Cornwall. Edmund, the son of Richard Plantagenet, king of the Romans, had done a strange act, the like of which had not been done before in England. He had founded his College of Ashridge in Buckinghamshire not for any of the monks or friars who had convents already in England, but for some strange men whom he brought from over the seas, and who were called the Boni Homines, or in France, from whence they came, “les bonshomme’s,” though they had there and elsewhere other names, for they were of those known as “the Friends of God.”

“Of this religious order,” says the author of the History of Ashridge, “there was no establishment in England before this event. The Earl of Cornwall introduced them into the kingdom from the south of France, at a time when there prevailed in that country a sect who called themselves Boni Homines. The historian of the Abbey of S. Alban’s terms them a sect of mystics, and by some they were confounded with the Albigenses, but in truth were, according to Mosheim, a remnant of the ancient Paulicians.

“That the Bonhommes of Ashridge, however, were nearly allied to the Albigenses, has been supposed probable by what remained of the old paintings on the walls of the Cloisters of Ashridge; the subjects being all chosen to deride the preaching friars and minorites, who had at first pretended to absolute poverty and self-denial, yet they built nobly and lodged superbly, and had thus drawn much odium upon themselves.” Thus far the historian of Ashridge.

That the old paintings had no higher purpose than to deride the Dominican and Franciscan friars, seems however contradicted by facts, for of the forty compartments which were painted, twenty-nine contained only various incidents in the life of Christ, beginning apparently with the slaughter of the infants at Bethlehem, and ending with the Ascension. The remaining eleven have been so defaced by time, the subjects remain unknown.

It must be remembered that the mother of Earl Edmund was one of the five daughters of Raymond Berenger, Count of Provence, being the sister of Eleanor, Queen of England, and of Marguerite, Queen of France, the wife of S. Louis. Edmund’s connection, therefore, with the south of France, sufficiently explains his relations with the Bonihomines, who were not Albigenses, but Catholics standing in close spiritual relationship with the Waldensian Brethren.

We know, especially from recent researches, how much of the evangelical teaching of the Waldensian “Brethren” had taken root in the hearts of those who still remained in outward communion with the Church of Rome, but who were united in inward communion with the “Friends of God” outside of it.

It is natural to suppose that during the twenty years which followed Earl Edmund’s importation of these suspected “mystics,” there must have been frequent communication between them and the monks of Rewley in the neighboring county. And that the belief and the language of the “Friends of God” should so strongly mark the writings of Richard Rolle might be thus explained.

The second supposition leads us into a subject of great interest, respecting which much more remains to be ascertained. But of that which seems hitherto to be proved as regards this point, a short account may be given. It is from an unexpected quarter that this ray of light shines upon our history.

It has been already mentioned that about the time of the birth of Richard Rolle, and during a period extending from the middle of the thirteenth into the following century, some of the most magnificent and extensive of the Oxford monasteries were built, besides which colleges were founded, with appropriate buildings, and churches either built or decorated, shrines being added, in some cases, of wonderful beauty. The shrine of S. Frideswyde, still existing, is one of these.

The number of masons and builders thus employed in and around the city was therefore considerable, and they were in fact a standing addition to the population, as they were not necessarily, or even probably, taken from the working classes-of the town, nor did they form a part of the trades guilds or fraternities, which were under municipal rule. They were, in fact, to a great extent foreigners, belonging to the widely-spread international organization of what may perhaps best be called “the building tabernacles,”―known in Germany, where this confederation seems first to have formed itself, “die Bau Mitten.”

To understand how this confederation arose, we must trace back the history of that which we call “Gothic architecture” to a period of several centuries earlier, when the great stone churches and convents began to take the place of thatched and wooden buildings.

For a considerable time these great architectural undertakings were entirely in the hands of the clergy. Not only were the designers and architects bishops and clergy of the higher orders, but the actual manual labor was carried on by monks and lay-brethren. Before the year 1000 there is no record of a church built under the direction of a layman. In fact there seems, in Germany at least, to be no really decisive evidence of the employment of laymen till the year 1099, when a fraternity of stone-masons is mentioned as existing at Lüttich, and from one of these the Bishop of Lüttich sought to gain information as to the building of a church, by bribing his son to reveal the secrets of his father’s art.

But as time went on, and churches were built in towns, whereas the convents were outside the walls, the exclusive employment of monks became a matter of difficulty, and in fact the numbers of the clergy did not suffice for the numerous building operations.

We then hear of men, and even women, of all classes coming to help in that part of the work which demanded no previous training. Ladies who in our days would seek to add to their stock of sanctity by cleaning or decorating churches, in those days carried mortar and bricks for the same purpose.

By the time we reach the thirteenth century, the numbers of clerical and lay architects began to be about equal, and consequently the lay-masons and builders consisted no longer of volunteer and amateur workmen, but of skilled laborers, and, in fact, only of those who were solemnly and regularly received into the building fraternity, with appropriate ceremonies and oaths of secrecy.

But this fraternity of the “Building Tabernacles” is by no means to be confounded with the fraternities of Freemasons. Nor must we regard them as forming a branch of the town guilds. On the contrary, having been originally composed of clergy only, and under the direction of the great architects who were high dignitaries in the Church, it was a fraternity exempted from ordinary rules, and from municipal supervision, and having special privileges, which made it an entirely autocratic body. It may be also observed that the reforms introduced by S. Bernard into monastic life tended to withdraw the monks more generally from secular pursuits, and threw open to laymen the employments which the monks deserted for a stricter convent life, but the privileges attached to the building fraternities rained unimpaired.

As the lay element increased, they shared in these privileges; and when by the end of the thirteenth century the clerical element to a great extent disappeared, this fraternity had become so widely spread, that it may correctly be called international.

Even before this, at the end of the eleventh century, we find communications existed between the German builders at Hirschau in the Black Forest, and those at Canterbury, Clugny, Dijon, and Marseilles. And when the “Building Tabernacles” became a fixed institution, this fraternal communication became so organized that the whole was in fact a cosmopolitan body. For this reason an interpreter was one of the invariable officials at each Tabernacle.

In the middle of the thirteenth century we find the architect who presided over the Utrecht Tabernacle sending out masons not only to German cities, but from the Zuyder Zee to Burgos, Miraflores, and Xante.

“Thus,” says Dr. Janner, “may we account for the masonic marks and regulations recognized by the builders alike from Sweden and England to Orvieto, so that a mason became as such a citizen of the world, and was transferred from one country to another as the need required.”

To explain the expression Tabernacle, we have but to take the word in its literal sense. When the church or cloister was to be erected, a hut, or tabernacle, was put up; if possible in a square. On the east side the master architect had his station. The tabernacle contained not only workshops, but a council chamber, a registry, a counting-house, and a magazine of implements. There was also in general a chapel attached, in which the chaplain of the Tabernacle said mass. But as the lay element took the place of the clerical, it often happened that the master builder took the place of the chaplain.

And we now reach the point at which the history of the Tabernacles becomes interwoven, in a manner most remarkable, with that of the Waldensian “Apostles” and “Brethren.” In the complaint made by Alvarus Pelagius of the swarms of “heretical Apostles and Beghards,” he charges them with having been nothing better than masons and builders, black smiths, weavers, and such like.

Have we no further reason for connecting the Tabernacles with the widely-spread, international community of “Brethren”?

The proofs given which lead to such a conclusion are clearly drawn out by Dr. Keller.

He remarks that in the writings handed down to us from some of the most well-known “Brethren,” no subject seems to be more familiar to them than architectural science, and in the case of the celebrated “Friend of God from the Oberland,” we find that he was consulted as to church building, and the erection of the “House of the Green Meadow,” as being evidently an expert in ecclesiastical building. He made architectural designs, as did also his friend Rulman Merswin, which prove him to have been an adept.

But the most convincing proofs on this head are those which do not lie upon the surface, but which are derived from a search into the mysterious origin of that wonderful architecture, which stood in contrast to all that preceded it in ancient art, and has had nothing to succeed it but distorted and inharmonious imitations in modern times.

“It borders, in fact, on the fabulous,” writes Reichensperger, “if we attempt to take a survey of all that from the twelfth century to the sixteenth was achieved in building, carving, and painting, as branches of Christian civilization. There stands yet, in spite of the assaults of later generations, a forest of cathedrals, for which modern resources scarcely avail to keep them in repair.

“What was the lever, by means of which this enormous work was accomplished, at a time when mechanical appliances were so little available in comparison with their power in modern times?

“The chief lever, as to architectural art and science, consists without a doubt in the existence of the mediæval tabernacles.”

What, then, was the form of Christian thought expressed by the builders? is the question we must consider.

“The preponderating influence,” writes Keller, “which inspired creative art in the Middle Ages, has been pointed out by the most distinguished art-historians as that religious tendency to which the name of ‘mysticism’ is usually given. Carl Schnaase says in plain words that only those are capable of understanding the art of the fourteenth century who are conversant with the writings of the ‘Friends of God.’ And conversely, he says of the theology of the Mystics, ‘It takes evidently an artistic character, and the more closely we examine medieval art, the more do we involuntarily realize its close connection with the Christianity of the Mystics.’”

“This similarity,” Keller proceeds to say, “does not consist in general impressions or sentiments, but on distinct and special facts. Symbolism played a very conspicuous part in mystical writings. Beliefs, counsels, maxims, which they dared not put into plain words for fear of the heretic tribunals, were expressed by them in a language of signs, which, generally speaking, was only understood amongst the ‘Brethren’ themselves. And they therefore often expressed in legendary or allegoric form” (as for example in the legends of the Holy Grail) that which they did not desire to be patent to those who kept a suspicious eye upon their writings.

“Symbols taken from architectural art play a great part in their writings. But natural objects in general served them as a secret language, and seldom, says Schnaase, do they speak Of God except in symbolic terms. They made much of mystical numbers, and described in the form of visions, the truths which they dared not write down in plain words.

“And when, in examining their writings, we compare their symbols and symbolic numbers, with those prevailing in the architecture and painting of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the relation between the two cannot escape us. And only in the light of mystical thought can we understand the meaning and purpose of contemporary Christian art.”

It would be extremely interesting to pursue this subject, did space permit. Suffice it now to say that the historical proofs which lead to the same conclusions are not wanting.

Such as, for example, is the declaration made in 1332 by the eleven German cities, that they would uphold the authority of the Emperor Lewis of Bavaria in defiance of the Pope. The cities solemnly assert that they have taken their stand upon the ground of Holy Scripture, denying the claims of the Pope to temporal power. “For the Scriptures declare that it is from Almighty God alone that all power and authority derive their existence.”

This declaration, as Dr. Keller observes, is so worded that it tells its own tale of having been composed by men versed in architecture and geometry, being marked by symbols taken from their craft, being, in fact, written in the current language of the Masters of the Tabernacles.

The fact of an influx of the Waldensian apostles and of the Friends of God into the building fraternity may be accounted for, by the safety which such an association assured them. The Tabernacles were sacred ground, into which inquisitors and town officials could not enter, and if the Master of the Tabernacle were himself one of the “Apostles,” he was free to conduct the worship of God himself, in the simple manner of the “Brethren,” reading the Bible, and praying with his workmen. None could interfere with his authority from outside.

And in all cases it would appear the daily reading of the Bible, forbidden and discouraged by the Romish clergy, formed a part of the Tabernacle services. From the ancient formularies still existing, we may suppose that extempore prayer was often offered by the “Brethren,” as it is specified that player may be longer or shorter as most befitting the occasion. It would appear also that whilst the Lord’s Prayer was in use, the Ave Maria was omitted, and only a few of the saints’ days recognized, those being the days kept in memory of the Twelve Apostles, John the Baptist, and the Virgin Mary. The Bible was always read in the mother tongue amongst the German and French “Brethren,” and was, as we know, translated for the English by Wiclif, translations of certain books, such as Richard Rolle’s Psalter, existing previously. It was a matter of necessity that those who were to draw their inspirations of Christian art from Christian sources, should in the first place make a study of the Word of God, and it is proved that in this great fraternity an exact acquaintance with the Old and New Testaments was regarded as indispensable. The builders never allowed their Bibles to be taken out of their hands.

Dr. Keller thus concludes: ― “According to my judgment, we can, by means of existing materials, arrive at the proof, not only that a spiritual connection, as before noticed, existed from early ages between the Tabernacles and the “Brethren,” but also that the forms, ceremonies, the whole constitution and organization of the Tabernacles, as of the whole fraternity were under the influence of those “Christian communities who are known in Church history as Waldensians or Beghards, in England as Lollards, later as Wycliffite’s.”

It is easy to understand that by this means a knowledge of the Bible, and of Gospel truth, could be widely spread through the whole of Western Europe. The Masters worked wherever they were called for building purposes, “going forth,” says Keller, “from their headquarters of Strasburg and Cologne to Brussels, Antwerp, London, York, or any other English city. And especially,” he adds, “when at the end of the thirteenth century England was relatively safe from the terrible persecutions of the Inquisition,” which went far to exterminate the Continental “Brethren,” and where soon after a distinct opposition to Rome marked the Lollard period of English history.

The question naturally arises, Why should the Waldensian “Brethren,” who stood under the ban of the Church of Rome, occupy themselves in the building of Romish cathedrals and churches?

The answer is not far to seek. It must be remembered that the object and purpose of the Waldensian apostles was not to form what we should call a Protestant Church, but to save the souls of men, and bring them into the innermost communion of the heart with God. And in proportion as the architects and masons were drawn from the Brethren’s communities, there appears to have been admitted into the Tabernacle fraternity “brethren and sisters” who became associates, without any intention of taking part in the work of building. In the old codes of the Tabernacle rules we find that such were received as “lovers of the work.”

And the common object of these brethren, sisters, and actual builders, was that which they spoke of as “spiritual building.”

“And from that time,” writes Keller, “the German Tabernacle fraternity built not only stately minsters and cathedrals, but they were at the same time inspired by the desire, which we have found so strongly marked in the ‘Christian communities,’ to build, not in the brat place temples of stone, but, as they expressed it to ‘build a Temple of God of the souls of men.’”

And therefore, the more the persecutions raged against the Friends of God, the more they took refuge, “like defenseless lambs,” in the shelter of the tabernacles, either as workmen, or as “lovers of the work”―the work of building the living Temple.

Nor did it seem to them that in building the cathedrals and abbeys, they were carrying out the purposes of their persecutors, or even doing their part in sensualizing the worship of God. They were no doubt mistaken in this, but there is evidence enough to show that to those who were truly the “Friends of God,” the art they had so marvelously acquired was regarded by them as a means of expressing in stone, by a language of symbols, that which they dared not express in speech or writing.

That a more distinctly Roman Catholic element also prevailed in the Tabernacles must, of course, be admitted; but it remains to be accounted for why so much that was simply Christian truth, as seen, for example, in the frescoes and mosaics of Gospel histories, should be found amongst the images and shrines, which tell as plainly of the corruption of the Church, as the Scriptural representations tell of true faith in God.

None can doubt that in painting his frescoes, da Fiesole truly and honestly desired to bring men to realize the love of Christ. In like manner those builders, who were believing men, sought with an ignorant, perhaps, but sincere intent to lead the thoughts of men up to God. And, therefore, when Reichensperger asserts that the soul and the explanation of the marvelous architecture of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries was the earnest faith of Catholicism, we may admit that it was earnest faith, but not of Catholicism. It was the faith of Christ, endeavoring to express itself in spite of that which was distinctly Roman Catholic. It was the living faith, which in the heart of the Roman Catholic Church was to become at last the destroyer of her superstitions, and to find a home outside of her pale, through the preaching of the later Reformers. And therefore the Roman Catholic Friends of God stood already in antagonism with that which they still called the Church, and brought down her curses and excommunications upon their heads.

And as the persecutions spread, and Rome destroyed out of her midst those who were of that which Richard Rolle called the “true Holy Church, the men who loved Christ,” the soul passed out of the architecture by which they had spoken, and those who followed could only imitate. But the imitations became, as a modern art-critic has described it, like science without a knowledge of mathematics, or music without a knowledge of thorough bass. The guiding principle had ceased to exist.

A similar degeneracy may be found if we read the writings of the Jesuit “Mystics,” which stand in the same relation to those of the Friends of God, as later architecture to that of the Tabernacles. It was not mysticism, but faith, so often called by that name by those who have it not, which brought the souls of the Friends of God into communion with Him.

Roman Catholicism lasted, though the architecture of the Tabernacle builders came to an end. In fact it not only lasted, but became more truly Roman Catholicism in later ages; and it became the more so, because those who had been as a river of life in the barren desert were burning at the stake, or being driven forth into Protestantism.

Would that Protestantism had retained, not only the doctrines for which they were condemned, but the love for which they died.

But we have to learn that whilst true doctrine is as necessary to Christian life (to use the figure of our art-critic) as thorough bass to music, or mathematics to science, it is only by the power of God the Holy Ghost, that the doctrine becomes to us more than a form of words or a theological system, and we may content ourselves with the form of words the more readily, the more they are true, and in a certain sense rational.

But to receive into the heart the living truth, to be transformed by it into the image of Christ, to be kept by it in continual intercourse with God Himself, is the great miracle of the grace of God, which is needed as much for the orthodox Protestant as for the superstitious Roman Catholic.

And because Protestants in so many cases accepted the “doctrines of grace,” and saw no need of the miracle which should make them to become living souls, they too became as a carcass out of which the life had departed, and the works of their hands told the tale of human skill and human knowledge, but not of the yearning of their hearts after God.

“The need is not that we should change our religion, but that our religion should change us,” said a former Roman Catholic who had for the first time heard and believed the Gospel.

It is true that the changed man will not be content with the old forms, for the new wine must be put into new bottles; he will either sorrowfully bear with them hoping for better things, as did the saints of medieval times, or he will come out into the freedom with which Christ has made him free.

This has been a long digression from the Oxford life of Richard Rolle―but it is perhaps an excusable digression, as casting a side-light upon his history, and bringing us too into sympathy with some of our Christian forefathers, who sought by means we cannot but think mistaken, to bring men to the same Lord and Saviour, who has received them into His presence, and whose Coming we are awaiting now.

Chapter 12.

“The Opening of the Door.”

“Death and destruction say, We have heard the fame thereof with our ears.”

“O path which no eagle knoweth,

No vulture’s eye hath seen―

Where never the lion goeth,

Nor the fierce lion’s track hath been―

Not in the land of the living

That wondrous path is known;

But Death and Destruction know it,

Trodden by One alone.

Path of the lonely sorrow,

Path of the Lamb who died,

Path from the Cross to the glory,

No other path beside.

Into the golden Chamber,

Into the secret place,

Paul by that pathway entered,

Saw the beloved Face―

Heard from His lips the wonders

Not to be told again―

The mystery and the glory,

That are wordless unto men.

But of the Cross and the sorrow,

The curse and the shame he told,

The path to the secret chamber

Of the cedar and the gold.

Were I with the trespass laden

Of a thousand worlds beside,

Yet by that path I enter,

The Blood of the Lamb who died.

From the depths of the doom and darkness

Ascends that wondrous road,

Which leads the heart of the sinner

Up to the heart of God.

For from heights of the golden City

He made the glorious road,

Which leads to the heart of the sinner

Down from the heart of God.

Down from the height of the glory,

Down from the love and the kiss,

The joy of the music end singing,

The endless unspeakable bliss.”

―From a Sermon of a “Friend of God,” A.D. 1330.

IT must have been during the period described by Richard as dating from the “beginning of the alteration of his life,” and ending with the “opening of the heavenly door,” that, at the age of nineteen, he suddenly returned to his father’s house, having said that he had feared, in remaining longer at Oxford, “to be entangled in the snares of sin.” Of the events of his life at this time, we have but a dim allusion to one, which may perhaps throw some light on the story that follows.

“There was a fair young woman,” he says, “who loved me not a little in good love.” But it was natural that Richard, who lived in the days when human affection was regarded as a part of the world to be renounced, should offer up to Christ the sacrifice of his earthly love. And he forbade himself to see the fair face and to hear the sweet voice any more.

And having sacrificed the greater love of his heart, he condemned himself also for the love he had to his father, and to the one sister who had been so dear to him, and who loved him so tenderly.

One day he made to her a mysterious request. It was that she would meet him in a solitary wood near the town of Pickering, bringing with her two of her garments, a long white robe and a grey tunic. She was also to bring her father’s rain-hood. When they had reached a sequestered part of the wood, Richard proceeded to cut off the sleeves of the grey tunic, and putting on the white garment with the sleeveless tunic above it, and the hood upon his head, he announced to his sister that he had thus to the best of his ability made for himself a hermit’s dress, according to that worn by the Eremite monks, and the Bonhommes of Ashridge; and that henceforth he should live apart from men, as a hermit in a forest, for he knew of no safety from sin but in a life of prayer in a solitary place.

But his sister looked at him with terror, and cried aloud, “Richard my brother is mad!” And lest her cries should bring others to the spot, Richard fled in his strange disguise, and she saw him no more.

When he had found a quiet spot in the moorland forests, he made himself a cell, and was glad to think that he was there alone with God. But old remembrances haunted him, and in his dreams he saw again the fair face of the woman he had loved. But it seemed to him in his dream, that he perceived she was no woman, but a fiend who had taken the lovely form to ensnare his soul. “Therefore,” he says, “I turned me to God, and with my mind I said, ‘O Jesu, how precious is Thy Blood!’ making the cross with my finger in my breast; and at once I was awake, and suddenly all was away, and I thanked God that delivered me, and soothly from that time I turned me to the love of Jesus, and the more I profit in the love of Jesus, the sweeter do I find it.”

We must bear with the beclouded thoughts of one whose light was dim, but we can thankfully own him as one whose love to his Saviour may put to shame the Luke warmness of our hearts. “There are but few names,” writes his biographer, “which can be put in competition with that of Richard Rolle in his claims to have inscribed upon the record of his life and labors, All for Jesus.” It must have been whilst alone with God in his solitary cell, that the time came which he describes as “the opening of the heavenly door.” “And yet nearly a year,” he says, “followed the opening of the door before the time when the warmth of the eternal love was truly felt in my heart.” Thus he relates this experience: “I was sitting in a certain chapel, and being much delighted with the sweetness of prayer or meditation, suddenly I felt in me a strange and pleasant heat, which was my entering into the heavenly love.

“And whilst this warmth, inexpressibly sweet, kindled and glowed within me, it was leading me to the perception of the celestial and spiritual sound which pertains to the song of everlasting praise, and to the sweetness of the melody, unknown and unheard but by him who has received it.

“And thus there passed by half-a-year more, three months, and some weeks. For as I was sitting in the same chapel, and singing the psalms at night, before supper, as well as I could, there came to me, as it were, a sort of chiming of voices overhead.” And his soul was filled with this heavenly music, and he broke out before God into continual singing. This song of gladness, described in the symbolic speech of mediaeval days, and still “known and heard by him who has received it,” had turned the life of Richard Rolle into an eternal song.

“And soothly now,” he wrote, “I shall sing to the Name of my Lord, that is, I shall sing His Name, even Jesus, in my heart, and show Him in my deed. Singing leadeth into joy, and he that sings well that Name, his joy is more than I can tell. O Lord our Lord, how excellent is Thy Name in all the earth! that is, the joy and fame of Thy Name, Jesu, unto the creatures Thou hast made and redeemed. Truly, my heart shall joy in Thy Salvation, that is, in Jesu, Whom I behold in thought. And to Him I shall sing in gladness of soul, when all the might of my heart is raised unto the song of Heaven. I shall sing with marvelous joy, for He gave to me spiritual gifts to sing His praises, and my works shall also be a song to Him―thus thanking Him in thought and deed.

“For the works of the new and clean life are a song to God, a wonderful joying that lifts the heart to Him, so that our thoughts are taken in to the mirth of Heaven, whilst we are still here living on the earth. For from the feast of Heaven sounds in the heart a sweet note, that makes us to break forth into a voice of joying, because of the wonderful softness of that mirth and song which reaches our souls,—a joying of the spiritual dainties of that heavenly feast. And our souls are glad in joy that no man can tell, because the Lord has bought them with His precious blood.

“In Thy Name, O Lord, we shall joy all the day, for by the love of Thy Son are we led in an even way to Heaven; therefore in Jesus we joy, our hearts singing within us the delights of eternal love.”

The living stream had flowed down into the thirsty heart, and according to the promise of Him who gives the water of life, it was to flow forth from that heart, which had now become a well of living water, in rivers of blessing. For it is the joyful soul that yearns over the miserable and the joyless, if indeed the joy is the joy of Christ.

“For,” said Richard, “Thou, O Lord, who art gentle and sweet, dwellest in them that believe in Thee; therefore their joy is without an end, not a passing joy as of an earthly lover, for they are made Thine everlasting temple. The Name of Jesus is salvation and joy, therefore no wonder if they have entered into the gladness of salvation that love it; and the love is not a passing, but a lasting love of great delight in this life, and in the life hereafter.

“Let other men choose them what they list—my part is God, the portion of my chalice, the cup of all my delight and joyfulness. And together with Christ do the saints drink the joy of God, for it is His joy; ‘the Father,’ He saith, ‘shall give Me a goodly heritage, even My redeemed, once lost in Adam, and restored to the knowledge of My brightness.’

“Thus ‘the Heavens’ (that is, the holy men who have in Heaven their conversation) ‘tell the joy of God, and there is no speech nor language where their voices are not heard.’ Therefore did the Holy Ghost teach the Apostles to speak all language, that they might tell the joy of God, the joy the mickleness whereof none other tongue may tell, none other heart may think, but his to whom God has taught it. Even as in the old law, the possession of priests and deacons was God alone.

“Into my chalice He poureth the wine of His love, warming and strengthening me within, for, O Lord, I take it from Thy hand, and, drinking it, I forget all vain delights of this world, for it gives me the brightness and gladness of life withouten end. O God, give us not to lose our crown, but make us to look and set the eye of our heart in the Face of Thy Christ, where rest is of our travail, and eternal gladness which we have never merited.

“Yea, Lord, my prayer is that thus I dwell in Thy house, and Forever praise Thee. For they who dwell therein drink ever of the river of Thy pleasures, of the mickleness of Thy delight, a river marvelously wide, as in the high tide of flooding waters.

“For truly in this world do God’s lovers drink deeply of His wonderful sweetness, and greatly delight in the ardent glowing of the love of Christ. For God saith He will fill them with endless life, and satisfy them fully, and shall show them His salvation, even Christ, till at last they shall see Him eye to eye, and speak mouth to mouth, that sight all their weed, and their unspeakable joy. And He will say to them, ‘Awake My glory, awake psaltery and harp,’ for He has made them to be the psaltery of high delight, and the harp upon which He makes sweet music; and we answer Him, ‘I myself shall arise right early,’ in the joyful rising of the day of His coming.”

Thus did Richard Rolle go forth from his cell to be the psaltery upon which God could sound the Name of Jesus, and the blessed music sounded far and wide over the Yorkshire moors, and in the forest glens, where the lost sheep of Christ were scattered.

It was indeed with good tidings of great joy that he came forth from his solitude. He was still ignorant of much that we are taught—he still assented to, rather than believed, many fables of man’s invention, for he was humble, and ready to believe others who were authorized teachers and leaders, as far as his own light would permit him to do so.

And, therefore, he never cast aside many strange superstitions and practices, though in his writings it

is a marvel to find so little darkness, and so full a flood of Gospel light.

Chapter 13.

The Sermon.

“Jesus, ô nom qui surpasse

Tout nom qu’on puisse exalter,

Que jamais je ne me lasse

Nom beni, de to chanter!

Seul clarteˊ qui rayonne

Sur les gloires du saint lieu,

Seule nom dont l’echo resonne

Dans le cœur memo de Dieu!

Jesus, c’est l’Amour supreme

De son trone descendu,

Qui ceint de Son diademe

Le front de l’homme perdu.

C’est le Roi qui s’humilie

Pour vaincre le revolte;

C’est la divine folie

Dans la divine bouteˊ

Qui pleura sur ceux qui pleurent?

C’est Lui, l’Homme meprise!

Qui mourut pour ceux qui meurent?

C’est Lui, l’Homme an cceur briseˊ!

De son sang et de see larmes

Il arrosa son chemin,

Et e’est par oes seules armes

Qu’ii mews le genre humain.

Jesus, par qui Dieu pardonne,

Roi d’epinee couronne,

Que le monde t’abandonne,

A toi mon cceur s’est donne!

Ta mort est ma delivrance,

Je esuis heureux sous Ta lot;

O Jesus, mon esperance,

Quel autre auraisle que Toi!”

THE time was come when the Lord would send him forth to speak of the things he had seen and heard, and his heart yearned over the dwellers in the castles and the huts in the country round; and he spoke to them in sweet and simple words of the love of Jesus. He sometimes went into the churches and little chapels amongst the hills, and prayed there alone.

One day, being the 14th of August, the vigil of the festival called the Assumption, he perceived a church near to the house of a certain knight, called Sir John de Dalton. He entered the church, and finding himself all alone, he knelt down in a quiet corner to pray.

Soon after, the family of the knight came in for the evening service, and it was observed that the accustomed place of the Lady de Dalton was occupied by a stranger in a singular dress. But the lady would not suffer him to be disturbed, and he himself, being lost as it were in prayer, did not notice those who came in.

After the service, the sons of the knight, who were students from Oxford, told their mother that the young man so strangely dressed was well known to them, and that he was the son of their neighbor William Rolle.

The next day, as there was a service in honor of the festival, the family were again at church, and the hermit was there in the dress of an assistant. And having asked leave of the priest, he went up into the pulpit, and preached a sermon so wonderful and so entrancing, that all men listened with awe, and felt their hearts as it were set on fire by the power of the Spirit of the Lord.

No record remains of the sermon, but words of Richard Rolle remain, which tell us what was the message that he brought from God. A message, not for the fourteenth century only, but for the nineteenth also.

First, a Latin text. “In English,” he said, “these words stand thus ‘Oil outpoured is Thy Name.’

“The Name of Jesus cometh into the world from Heaven, and straightway it smelleth as oil outpoured. Oil, the salvation that lasteth for evermore. Soothly the Name Jesus is as much as to say in our English tongue Saviour, or Helpful.

“Therefore what meaneth ‘oil outpoured is Thy frame,’ but this, Jesus is Thy Name?

“Jesus! Thou fulfillest in Thy work that which Thou art called in Thy Name; Thou whom we call Saviour, therefore is Thy Name Jesus, the Name of wonder, the Name of deep delight.

“This is the Name above all names—Name the highest of all things that are; Name, without which is no saving hope for men. This Name is in mine ear a heavenly song, in my mouth as honey for sweetness.

“Therefore no wonder that I love that Name, the which comforteth me in all anguish, that causeth my prayer to rise to God, and that is to me unfailing courage and cheer; the blessed Name of Jesus. I savor naught of joy in that which is not mingled with Jesus. Wheresoever I be, wheresoever I sit, whatsoever I do, the savor of the Name Jesus departeth not from my mind. I have set it as a token upon my heart, as a token upon mine arm, for love is strong as death, the love of my Saviour Jesus.

“As death slays all, so love overcomes all. Everlasting love has conquered me, not for to slay me, but for to make me live. But it has wounded me that it should heal me. It has pierced through my heart, that to the innermost my heart should be healed. And now scarcely do I live for joy, for I am not able in this feeble flesh to bear so delightsome sweetness, so mickle majesty.

“But whence unto me such joy but for Jesus? The Name of Jesus has taught me to sing, and has lightened my soul with the glory of unmade light. Therefore I sigh and cry, Who shall show to the beloved Jesus that I languish for love? ‘My heart melts in the fire of that love, yearning for Jesus, and with the sweetness of the Godhead is it filled to the full.

“And finding Thee, Lord Jesus, my heart, captive to Thy love, coveteth Thee alone. Then is the heart touched with sovereign sweetness, and waxeth hot in the love of God, whilst it holds within it the sweetest Name of Jesus. And soothly from thence there floweth forth a mighty river of love, and what thing that love toucheth it ravisheth utterly to itself.

“O Name desirable, lovable, and comfortable, no such sweet joy may be conceived as that which Thou enfoldest― such sweet song may be heard as the sound of Thee. Therefore whosoever thou be that preparest thy heart to love God, if thou wilt stand and not fall, have a busy care to hold the Name of Jesus in thy mind; then shall the enemy fall and thou shalt stand, the enemy shall be made weak and thou shalt be made strong, thou shalt be a glorious overcomer.

“Soothly nothing so quenches fell flames, so destroys evil thoughts, so drives forth venomous affections, so does away from us curious and vain occupations, as the Name of Jesus. For it poureth in the savor of heavenly things, and consumes discord, and brings in peace, and gives untroubled rest; turns all earthly things to naught, and fills the loving soul with ever-lasting joy. Therefore is it said― ‘They that love Thy Name shall be joyful in Thee,’ and ‘Thou Lord shalt bless the righteous, with favor shalt thou compass him about as with a shield.’

“Soothly know we well that thus is it in the love of God, that the more we love the more we long to love. Surely naught of joy shall be lacking to him who loveth Him whom the angels yearn to behold, but his joy is full, and eternal, and glorious. Therefore, Lord Jesus, all shall joy that love Thy Name; now by the outpouring of Thy grace, and in the time to come by sight of joy; for the flower of love is joy, and he that loveth not shall for evermore be withouten joy.

“Whatso ye do, if ye give all ye have unto the needy, yet love not the Name of Jesus, ye labor in vain. Know ye all that the Name of Jesus is healful, and fruitful, and glorious. Who then shall have salvation that loves it not? or who shall bear fruit to Christ who beareth not the flower? Joy shall he never see who has not loved the Name of Jesus.

“I went about seeking after riches, and I found not Jesus. I ran after the wantonness of the flesh, and I found not Jesus. I sat in companies of worldly mirth, and I found not Jesus. Amidst all these things I sought for Jesus, but I found Him not, for He gave me to wit by His grace that He is not found in the land of soft living.

“Therefore I turned by another way, the way of poverty, and I found Jesus poor, laid in a crib, and wrapped in swaddling clothes. I went by the way of weariness, and I found Jesus weary in the way, hungry, thirsty, and cold, filled with reproach and blame. I sat alone, fleeing the vanities of the world, and I found Jesus in the desert, fasting on the mountains and praying. I found Him bound and scourged, gall given Him to drink, nailed to the Cross, hanging on the Cross, dying on the Cross.

“He is found not in wanton joying, but in bitter greeting (weeping), not among many, but alone.

“Soothly I wonder not if the tempted fall, who keep not the Name of Jesus in lasting mind. In serving and delighting in Jesus Christ there is nothing of the world’s thoughts. It is a delight wonderful and pure, holy and steadfast, and when a man feels in him that joy, then is he of the spiritual circumcision.

“Then all other wants and affections and thoughts are drawn away out of his soul, that he may have rest in God’s love without entanglement of other things. The delight is wonderful. It is so high that no thought may reach thereto to bring it down. For the heart is kept aloft in the light, upholders by the Holy Ghost, above all earthly thoughts, and above all lower things.

“And then does the Name of Jesus sound in his heart delectably, as it were a heavenly song, and this comfort and sweetness is so mighty that it draws all the wits of the soul thereto. And when a soul offers this song to Jesus, truly and meekly, putting all his trust and desire in Him, our Lord Jesus purifies the affection of the soul, and fills it and feeds it with sweetness of Himself, and makes His Name to be felt in the soul as honey or as minstrelsy, or as all delightsome things.

“Nevertheless in this manner of feeling, a soul may be turned aside by vain glory; not in the time that the affection sings to Jesus, and loves Jesus in sweetness of Him; but afterward, when it ceases, and the heart cools of love to Jesus, then enters in the vain glory.”

Thus has one written five hundred years later: “I am a man in Christ, because Christ is my life. This is the place in which we are set, in Christ in the presence of God. In the case of S. Paul, when this truth was carried to the highest possible realization, he was in the third heaven. But Paul gets back to the world, and the flesh comes in. He had been in the third heaven, he had had this wonderful abundance of revelations, and the flesh says to him, There has not been a person in the third heaven but you.’ He is not puffed up when he is there, because it is the presence of God, and nobody can be proud in the presence of God.

“Persons fancy that it makes people proud to be in the third heaven. Never! The danger is when you get out of the third heaven, of the flesh being proud of having been there. Wherever it works, it makes mischief, and if there were a fourth heaven, and a man could have been there, it would only be worse. Therefore, what does God send? A thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet him.”

And thus also does Richard Rolle repeat his warning: “Therefore I hold it sicker (safe) that a man be meek in his own conditions, and that he suffer not his heart to be gaping after some strange stirring, or some wonderful feeling, but be it enough for me and for you to have desire and longing to our Lord; and if He will of His free grace send us more of spiritual light, and open our spiritual eyes for to see and know more of Him than we have known before, thank we Him thereof.

“So I have told ye in this matter a little as methinketh, not affirming that this sufficeth. But it sufficeth to me to live in truth principally, and not in feeling. Saint Paul says that as long as we are in this body, we are pilgrims from our Lord; that we walk by faith, not by sight, that is, we live in truth and not in feeling, and we have a desire to be absent from the body, and be present to God.

“Nevertheless we may not yet, wherefore we strive whether we be absent or present for to please Him, having a desire and a great yearning for to be present to Him, to see Him in His bliss, one with Him in His eternal love.”

And having ceased to speak, he broke forth in a joyful song, so strong and sweet, that those who listened seemed to themselves to be borne away into the gladness of the City of God.

Chapter 14.

The Knight and the Lady.

AFTER this, the people rose to leave the church, for the service was over, and Sir John de Dalton invited the hermit to dine with him, for he desired to speak further with him. But Richard excused himself, and fled, and hid himself in an outhouse, for he was not a lover of feasts, nor of much company, but of stillness and solitude.

Sir John therefore made search for him, and when he was found, he entreated him with many courteous words to follow him into the banqueting hall. And Richard being pressed, did so; but he sate down, as the Lord had directed His disciples to do, at the lowest end of the table amongst the servants. But Sir John and his lady compelled him to come up higher, and treated him as the most honored guest. They would gladly have listened to his discourse, but strange to say, he spoke not a single word, and when he had eaten sufficiently, he rose up, and took leave of them, and departed.

The knight, however, followed him, and persuaded him to return with him to his private room, that he might talk with him alone. He inquired from whence he came, and Richard told him that he was truly the son of William Rolle, but that he had desired to give himself up entirely to the service of his Father in heaven, and he spoke with such gladness of heart and delight in God, and with such spiritual wisdom and power, that the knight was assured that he was of a sound mind, of which, during the banquet, he had been doubtful.

And he therefore told him that he would provide him with garments suitable for a hermit, instead of those he had manufactured out of his sister’s tunics, and that he would give him a cell, and provide for him his daily food. And Richard thanked God and the knight, and found much time in his cell for reading the Word of God, and for holding converse with Him.

And at other times he went forth to preach the love of Christ, and to bring sinners to Him, and he also taught and comforted the children of God. And at this point, as in all histories of that period, the story of Richard’s life becomes entangled and entwined with many wild and foolish legends, so that we must content ourselves to know merely the facts which we can unearth from the encumbering rubbish.

He lived for a while in his cell, and then roved to Richmondshire, making many preaching tours through the dales around. He then again changed his quarters and settled for a while near Doncaster, and finally he took up his abode in a cell near the Cistercian monastery of Hampole.

In these various retreats he was visited by many who came to him for comfort or counsel. He also wrote many letters and books, and though later writings of other authors have sometimes passed for his, there remain some which are evidently genuine, written in Latin, or in the Yorkshire dialect he was accustomed to use.

From his writings we can well judge of his manner of teaching, when consulted by those who, living in their homes and families, in the castles and manors around, desired to serve God. Often did the Lady de Dalton come to him for help and counsel, and such as he gave must have fully convinced the good knight, her husband, that this strange young man was of singularly sound mind. It might not be useless to some of us in days so different, and it sounds strangely solid and practical, as we gather it out of the legendary stories which meet us everywhere in the dreamland of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.

For the river that makes glad the City of God, watered trees whose fruit was for meat, and the leaf for medicine—so it has ever been, and so it is still, and it is upon the banks of that river only that we gather the marvelous fruit, so unlike at all times to the wild and bitter fruit of the trees of the earth. Therefore these are words good for us to read, which fed and strengthened our forefathers five hundred years ago.

It is true that some of the temptations of our ancestors are little likely to lead their children astray. Few of us have the cravings of anchorites or crusaders, or an excessive passion for the “contemplatiff lyfe,” such as Richard Rolle describes it. Thereby in the old days were true-hearted men and women led into cells and cloisters; and there were those who set forth on that spiritual search, of which the parable of the “Holy Grail” remains as a witness.

To fewer souls in these our days will some of Richard’s counsel be a word in season. “For,” as he writes, “we are born in sin, and in the corruption of the flesh, by the which we be so blinded and overlaid, that we have neither the ghostly knowledge of God by light of understanding, nor ghostly feeling of Him by pure desire of loving. And therefore we stir not suddenly out of this mirk pit of fleshly corruption into that ghostly light. For we may not suffer it, nor bear it, for sickness of our souls, no more than we may with our bodily cen when they be sore, behold the light of the sun.”

But the miracle wrought at noonday on the road to Damascus has been repeated through the ages. And there are some who have seen enough of the “unmade light” to be blinded to the noontide splendor of the earth below.

“You may read my history in the ninth chapter of the Acts,” said a French lawyer a few days since; “if ever the Lord spoke from Heaven to Saul of Tarsus, He spoke to me, a Catholic by name an atheist in my heart.”

To him also “the light beyond the brightness of the sun” shone down, and to him also has the commission been given to open the eyes of the blind, to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God. He too, as regards the former things, could say with praise and gladness, “I could not see for the glory of that light.”

And some on whom such wonders had been wrought, came to Richard to ask for counsel regarding the earthly matters which now seemed to them of small account; for they desired to live a life apart, beholding continually the Face of Christ.

“Such life,” said Richard, “if ye might come sothefastly thereto, were in truth best and most speedful, and most fair, and not to be left willfully for outward works of active life, but only in great need, so that ye might comfort and relieve other men, either in body or in soul.

“But for thee” (here it would seem he spoke to one specially, it might be the Lady de Dalton, or the mistress of some castle or manor), “soothly methinks the mingled life” (of contemplation and of action) accords most to thee; for since our Lord has set thee in the place of sovereignty over others, and lent thee abundance of worldly goods for to rule and sustain specially all those that are under thy governance, and also since thou hast received grace of the mercy of our Lord God for to have somewhat knowing of thy self, and spiritual savor of His love, I hope that this mingled life is for thee the best, a time for the one, and a time for the other.

“For wit thou well, if thou leave needful business of active life, and be reckless, and take no keep of thy worldly goods, how they be spent and kept, because of desire and will that thou hast only for to give thee to spiritual occupations, weening that thou art thereby excused: if thou so do, thou doest not wisely.

“What are all thy works worth, whether they be bodily or ghostly, if they be not done rightfully and reasonably, to the honor of God, and at His bidding? Soothly they are worth right naught. Then, if thou leave that thing thou art bound to do, by way of charity, upon right and reason, and will wholly give thee to another thing, willfully as it were, for the more pleasance thereof, thou dost not render worship discreetly to Christ.

“Thou art busy to do honor to His Head and Face, and array it fair and curiously, but thou leavest His Body, His arms and feet, to be ragged and rent. And then thou worshippest Him not. It is as if a man were arrayed curiously upon his head with pearls and precious stones, and his body were left bare and in rags.

“Thou shalt understand that our Lord Jesus Christ as man, is Head of a spiritual Body which is His holy Church. The members of this Body are all Christian men. Some are arms, and some are feet, and some are other members with sundry workings. Then if thou be busy with all thy might for to array His Head, that is to worship Himself by mind of His Passion, or of His other works, by devotion and meditation of Him, and forgettest His feet, it may be thy children, thy servants, thy tenants, and thy fellow Christians; and let them be unarrayed, unkept, and dust not attend to them as thou ought for to do, thou pleasest Him not, and doest no honor to Him. Thou kissest His mouth, and treadest upon His feet. Thus think I.

“But nevertheless if thou thinkest it is not so, for that it is a fairer office to worship the Head of Him than for to go lower to other works, and make clean His feet, that is, busying thyself both in thought and deed for the help of thy fellow Christians, I think not so as thou thinkest.

“Soothly He will thank thee more for the meek washing of His feet than for all the precious painting and the arraying of His Head, for it is fair enough, and needs not mickle to be arrayed by thee. The more low service thou doest to thy Lord, for love of Him, that is, unto any of His members, when need and right ask it, and the more thou doest it with a glad and meek heart, the more thou pleasest Him.

“Thinkest thou not it were enough for thee to be at the least degree and lowest state when it is His will that it be so? Since it is He who has put thee in office that thou shouldest labor, and serve other other men. If thou hast prayed and been spiritually occupied, thou shalt after a certain time break off that, and be busily and gladly occupied in some bodily occupation for thy fellow Christians. And when thou hast been busy outwardly a while with thy servants, or with other men profitably, thou shalt break off and come again to thy prayers and thy devotion, after God gives thee grace thereto; and so shalt thou put away by the grace of our Lord sloth, idleness, and vain rest of thyself that comes under color of contemplation, and hinders thee from needful and speedful occupation in outward business.

“And therefore if thou be put from thy rest in devotion, when thou wouldst life be still thereat, by thy children, thy servants, or thy fellow Christians, for their profit, or ease of their hearts, be not angry with them, nor heavy, nor fearful as if God would be wroth with thee for that thou hast left Him for other things, but go do thy debt and thy service as readily as if our Lord Himself bade thee so to do. And suffer meekly all disturbance and trouble which come to thee thereby, for it may fall some time that the more troubled thou hast been outwardly with active works, the more burning desire shalt thou have to God, and the more clear sight of spiritual things by grace of our Lord when thou comest again to thy devotions.

“For it fares thereby as if thou hadst a little burning coal, and thou would make a fire therewith. Thou wouldst first lay to sticks, and heap them round the coal, and if it seemed as for a time that thou shouldst quench the coal with the sticks, nevertheless when thou hast waited a while and blown a little, all at once springs up a great flame of fire, for the sticks are turned to fire.

“Right so, spiritually, for the will and desire thou hast to God, is, as it were, a little coal of fire in thy soul, for it gives to thee somewhat of ghostly heat and light. But it is full little, for oft it waxes cold, and turns to fleshly rest, and sometime,’ into idleness. Therefore is it good that thou put thereto sticks, that are good works of active life. And if so be that these works seem for a time to hinder thy desire, be not therefore fearful, but suffer a while and be patient, and so blow at the fire, and then go alone to thy prayers and meditations, and lift up thy heart to God, and all shall turn into flame of fire as sticks laid upon the coal.

“So shall the fire be, as it is said in Holy Writ, that it burneth always on the altar, and never goeth out. The fire is love and desire to God in the soul, and love needs to be nourished and kept, by laying to of sticks, that it be not quenched.

“These sticks are of divers matter, some of one tree and some of another. For a man or woman who is lettered, and has understanding in Holy Writ, it is gude to gather sticks of holy ensamples and sayings of our Lord, and nourish the fire with them. Another man or woman, unlettered, may not so readily have at his hand Holy Writ and doctors’ saws, and it needs for him to do many works of service to his fellow Christians, and kindle the fire of love thereby.

“But it is good to gather the sticks one way or another, for affection of love is tender, and will lightly vanish away, if it be not well kept and continually nourished.

“I pray thee heartily, dear sister, increase this fire. The more desire thou hast to Him, the more is this fire of love in thee. But dispute not with thyself as if thou wouldst know how mickle thy desire is, but be busy for to desire as mickle as thou may, but not for to wit the measure of thy desire.” And after a time it came to pass that the lady of the Dalton manor was sick unto death, and greatly tempted by the devil. She sent therefore for Richard, who came to her bedside, and prayed to the Lord, and spoke to her of Jesus. And the devil departed from her, and she died in peace. This story comes to us adorned with legendary fables, but we can understand it simply, end can well believe that Richard did by his prayer, emit words of comfort, bring peace to the dying lady.

Chapter 15.

The Gospel in the Dales.

“O that Thy Name might be sounded

Afar over earth and sea;

Till the dead awaken and praise Thee,

And the dumb lips sing to Thee!

With might would I sound it and sing it,

Wherever man’s foot hath trod;

The despised, the derided message,

The foolishness of God.

Jesus, dishonored and dying,

A felon on either side―

Jesus the song of the drunkards,

Jesus the Crucified!

Jesus the Lamb accepted;

Jesus the Priest on His throne,

Jesus the King who is coming,

Jesus, Thy Name alone.”

AND to others Richard would talk, whose temptations were very different from those of the lady of the castle, for there were some who had lived in sin and worldly pleasures; and when they had been awakened to repentance, they were in despair, and believed that they must be condemned eternally.

And to them Richard would say, “Look back to the Cross of Jesus and hear the voice of Christ in His Passion. For when He hung on the cross and said, ‘Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani,’ that is, ‘My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?’ He showed that this psalm is written of Him, and it was our sins that caused Him to suffer this hard pain. ‘For through My Passion,’ saith He, ‘the sins of sinners shall be put away.’

“He calls our sins His, for He made them His—not to have them, but to do them away, so that He made His righteousness ours. And through this shedding of His Blood the sinner is cleansed of the leprosy of sin, and made secure and safe for endless years. Through Christ, God bringeth us from wrath to mercy, and from ill to good, and from sorrow to gladness. His way is in the sanctuary―who is so great a God as our God!

“For Christ is the way, and into the Holy of Holies hath He entered, to be the way whereby we may come to God. And He is the God that doeth wonders, and who hath with His Arm redeemed His people. His Arm is His Son, Jesus Christ made known to men―the Son who bought us with His Blood.

“He is the Rock which God slave in the wilderness — Jesus, pierced for us on the cross, in the bare wilderness, forsaken of God—and from Him flows the fullness of God’s grace to men out of the mickle depths.

“And therefore death is but safe rest and sweet, which He giveth to His beloved, and after death the glorious, hope, even the meed of Christ. For the friends of God have then the heritage and the meed of Christ.”

Such was the Gospel preached by him in his many wanderings, for “though,” he says, “I was wont to seek for quiet, it is no bad thing for hermits to go forth at times from their cells for reasonable causes.” And this gave occasion to some to speak evil of him, and reproach him; “but I did not,” he says, “cease from what was useful to my soul for their words.”

Great numbers were meanwhile turned to God by his simple preaching, and many were comforted and strengthened in their faith. The sick and dying sent for him, and other recluses and anchorites were refreshed by his visits.

One of these was an anchoress called Margaret Kirkby, who lived in a cell at Anderby. He had at first been her teacher in the love of God, and now that years had passed by, and they were both old, and Margaret was at times ill and feeble, he paid her visits to cheer and comfort her. He found her once lying helpless from paralysis, having been speechless for thirteen days. But when he had prayed for her and with her, for she could join with him in spirit, she was suddenly restored, and he told her the Lord had showed him that during his lifetime she should never have any return of this illness.

For her he wrote his English translation of the Psalms, with a commentary. His preface serves to explain to us the meaning of the expression used by him, that “the heavenly door was opened.” For to those who know not in their own experience the opening of that door into the treasure-house of God, into the secret place of the Most High, the chamber of His Presence, the words of Richard will be as an unknown tongue.

But there are some amongst us whose hearts will respond to the sweet and simple words, because they too have entered in, and are joining in the song of God’s redeemed, of the past ages and the present.

“Soothly this shining book,” he writes, “is a chosen song before God; a lamp lighting our life; the balm of a sick heart, honey to a bitter soul. In these Psalms is so mickle fairness of things made known, and medicine of words, that this book is a garden enclosed, a fountain sealed, a paradise full of all pleasant fruit.

“With wholesome love it brings disturbed and stormy souls to clear and peaceful life, admonishing with tears to cease from sin. The song that delights the heart, and teaches the soul, is a voice of praise and trust.

“O wonderful sweetness, the which waxes never soar, but is eternal in its dignity, and increaseth ever in grace of purest softness. All gladness and delight of earth waneth, and at the last dwindles to naught; but this song, the longer time it has, the sweeter is it, and most of all when death draws near, when love is perfected.

“To a hymn three things are needful, praising of God, rejoicing of heart, and affectionate thinking of God’s love. Song is a great gladness in the thought of eternal things and endless joy; breaking forth in a voice of praise.

“This is well called, therefore, a book of hymns and songs, for it teacheth us to praise God with glad cheer and mirth, and softness of soul, not only in heart, but with a voice of praise; thus teacheth it the ignorant, and conformeth men who fell in Adam, to Christ in newness of life.”

The Bible was a book dear to the heart of Richard, and therefore was his preaching as clear water from a deep well. “The words of the Lord,” he said, “are pure words, as silver tried in a furnace of earth purified seven times. These words are the preaching of Christ, the words of our Lord spoken purely and without corruption. Some speak of God that they may be holden wise and holy, and that men may give them gifts; but Christ’s words are pure, as silver tested in the fire, proved in the fire of tribulation. Among all metals none more sweetly chimes than silver, as among speech none is so sweet to the heart as God’s Word, that is purged sevenfold, through the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost.”

This allusion to the seven gifts is one of the well-known marks which stamp the writings of the “Friends of God “―the Waldensian “Brethren.” So also is the passage in his Psalter, where in the 22nd Psalm he speaks of Christ as “praising His Father in the midst of the Church; that is, in communion of all righteous men, for where God is feared and praised, there is the Church.”

So again we find that in speaking of the death of a believing man, he sees beyond no purgatory, but Heaven alone. “If I dwell,” he writes, “in the midst of this life, that is, the shadow of death, for it is black with murkiness of sin, and it leads to death, I shall not dread ill, for Thou art with me, so that after the shadow of death I shall be with Thee in very life. I shall sleep in peace, in lasting and unchangeable joy; I shall sleep with all softness, hidden from all the noise of the world—I shall die and thenceforth rest in the bed of endless bliss and in the settle of Heaven. And this verily shall be. And I am, certain of this joy, as may be every Christian man.

“How great the multitude of Thy sweetness, Lord, the which Thou hast hidden up for them that fear Thee! the sweetness of joy that Thou hidest, that it may be more desired, till in Heaven it is brought forth and shown, so mickle that no man may tell it. And in this perfect sweetness Thou shalt hide them that hope in Thee, in the hiding-place of Thy Face. They shall see Thee face to face, that Face so hidden that none may see it, save those who are clean as purged gold. How blessed is each one that Thou halt chosen through grace from the mickle number of lost men, and Thou hast taken to the eternal rest for he shall dwell without removing in the halls of Heaven, whither we go singing, coming out of Babylon, and singing, when we are come there.

“For I am a stranger, no dwelling-place have I down here, but Lord I am passing on to Thee, a pilgrim to the city of Heaven.

“How wonderful joy is kept for me to have in Heaven! For Thou, O God, art all the desire of my heart, and my eternal portion. Let others choose whom they will love―I will naught but Jesus Christ. Ill spake they who said, ‘Can God furnish a table in the wilderness?’ No discretion had they in their speech, for the joy and delight of Thy love is a full table to man’s soul in the wilderness of this life, so that we need no other solace.

“He rained manna for to eat, and Bread of Heaven He gave them.’ Through the preachers He rained, that is, that by them he taught men to receive Christ as the food of the soul, and as all manner of delight. He gave them the Bread of Heaven, for He gave Himself. So whilst sorrows are many and bitter, comforting’s are many, and soft and sweet. While we have eternal comfort, we think naught of passing sorrow.

“Here I am in exile. I am not a citizen of Babylon, my heart is in Heaven, if my body be here. None can say this but the righteous, for their heritage is in Heaven, and they are strangers and foreigners here below, travailing, weary, sick, and cold; but He forsakes us not, and the end of all is perfect peace.”

And again we hear the language of the “Friends of God,” when Richard says, “The Lord calls all men priests who offer themselves in love and devotion to Him. For Christ saith, ‘Thine eyes saw my substance, being yet unperfect’―(His redeemed ones, unperfect and stumbling as yet),―and ‘in Thy book are they written,’ that is, ‘in Me are they written, that they perish not, but My chosen shall be formed anew in Me to grace and joy.’

“For holy men are God’s friends, fulfilling His will with all their might, and are made princes of the people of God.”

It is remarkable that Richard adds to this description that by holy men the Lord fills up the vacant place caused by the fall of the angels, and that the saints shall sit with Christ to judge the world.

Chapter 16.

The Day of Endless Bliss.

“O when shall the fair day break, and the hour of gladness come,

When I to my heart’s Beloved, to Thee O my Lord go home?

O Lord, the ages are long, and weary my heart for Thee;

For Thee, O my one Beloved, whose voice shall call for me.

I would see Thee face to face, Thou Light of my weary eyes,

I wait and I watch till morning shall open the gate of the skies;

The morn when I rise aloft to my one, my only bliss,

To know the smile of Thy welcome, the mystery of Thy kiss.

For here hath my foot no rest, and mine eye sees all things fair,

As a dream of a land enchanted, for my heart’s love is not there―

And amidst the thronging of men I am lonelier than alone,

For my eye seeketh One I find not, my heart craveth only One.”

―Henry Suso, A.A. 1340.

WE can gather something of the inner life of Richard from the many allusions in his Psalter to natural objects. For to him all things had a language, and stood for symbols of the unseen things; and therefore, in explaining the words of Scripture, he took in symbolic sense the natural objects mentioned in the text. We know that in many cases this is the true interpretation-the green pastures and the still waters, the river that makes glad the City of God, the hart that panteth after the water brooks, the kiss of righteousness and peace, are well understood by the mind which the Spirit of God has taught.

In Richard’s mind, all things, from the stars of heaven to the grass in the meadows, had a meaning which led his thoughts to God. “He telleth the number of the stars, He calleth them all by their names,” and Richard adds, “The Lord keeps all His chosen men, for He knoweth them that are His, and all their names are written in the book of life, and to each He gives his proper gift, so that each one is named by God for the place in which He setteth him.” And as he saw the sun set behind the purple moors, he said to himself the words of Christ, “ ‘The Son of Man must suffer many things, and be killed, and be raised again the third day.’ Even so is it written of Him, ‘The Sun knoweth his going down. And He shall rise again.’ “And when the moon shone down on his cell he said, “He maketh the moon for a season—for the Holy Church will be here but for a time, and then will go to God.” And he watched the ways of the birds and bees, and the woodland creatures, and found their resemblances in the spiritual world in which his soul dwelt as in a familiar home.

And sometimes he finds a quaint meaning, which we cannot follow, though the thought has truth and beauty in which we can delight.

“He giveth snow-like wool, He scattereth the hoar frost like ashes.” This he remarks upon thus― “As snow freezeth above and falleth beneath, so, when love cools in a man, he falls downwards to the earth, and is wrapped up in the things below, in the bed of snow lying still and cold. But in this snow are some that God has ordained to everlasting salvation, the which He makes to be no more snow, but wool; and of wool can clothing be fashioned.

“Therefore of some who be yet cold, Christ’s kirtle shall be made, without spot or stain. And those who some time were cold, He makes to burn in love, making lovers for Himself of sinful men.”

And again He speaks of the verse, “Turn our captivity, O Lord, as streams in the south—even as when the south wind blows, the frozen streams are loosed and flow along, so the Holy Ghost blowing on us, we are loosed from sin and flow onwards to Heaven, and our captivity is turned to joy. For He sent His word and melted them, He blew with His wind and the waters flowed. The Word of God coming, the snow crystals and the cloud are melted. Therefore neither cold nor murkiness nor hardness need despair, for they melt wholly in God’s love as soon as His Spirit breathes into the heart; and waters, the streams of knowledge and grace, run down that other men may drink. And he that hath understanding drinks of the well of eternal light.”

Thus, as Richard sat in his cell, or journeyed through the woods and meadows, the world was to him as a parable in which he learned the love of God; and the book of God’s creation, and the Bible, the book of redemption, told to him the same tale, and the one made the other more true and “shining” to his soul.

So the years passed by, during which Richard spent blessed days alone, and also blessed days when he gave forth that which the Lord had taught him. And at last he was an old man, and he was glad to know that the time was near when he should see his Saviour “eye to eye, and speak with Him mouth to mouth.”

“The yearning of my heart,” he said, “speaks to God, and He alone hears it. I seek His face―I seek Thee and none other thing, and I shall seek Thy Face for evermore till I die, and then shall I no more seek but find. My soul is as the hart that thirsteth after the water-brooks. I thirst for God’s well of life, even to come and appear before God. When shall I come and appear before His Face? For I covet to die and be with Christ.

“Methinketh it is long till I am there. I thirst in my yearning, I shall be filled in my coming. For mickleness of love my soul longs for the halls of our Lord, the court of Heaven. My heart is melted in sweetness of love, and delight of the joy that is there within. It is a true gladness when a man covets to die, for the joy thereof.

“Here are we in travail and anguish for God’s love, and are fain when God leadeth us into the desired haven, the bliss of Heaven. Then is the eternal day that has no night, when Christ the Sun setteth nevermore, and there shall I love perfectly, and fall and change no more forever. I go from the day that now is, into the day of endless bliss.”

And it came to pass in those years, that Dame Margaret, the anchoress, had suddenly an illness like that from which she had been healed by the prayer of Richard. But this time she did not lose her speech. And she said, “Now I know that Richard of Hampole is dead, for he prayed for me that I should have this illness no more whilst he lived on earth.”

And she sent a man to Hampole, which was twelve miles off, to inquire, and she found that he had died just before the illness had struck her. And she desired to be carried to Hampole to be there at his funeral, and she remained at Hampole till she died, and was buried there, near to Richard, in the church of the Cistercian convent.

And the writings of Richard were preserved by the Cistercian nuns with care. “For,” they said, “evil men of Lollardy had misused these writings for their own base purposes, and propped up their mischievous heresies by the support of his great and honored name.”

The nuns, meanwhile, were careful to cast no blame upon Richard himself, nor upon his writings, for crowds were wont to come to pray at his tomb, and miracles were declared to be worked there, so that the sanctity of Richard became a source of great profit and honor to the convent.

And it was left to those in later ages to compare the writings of Richard with those of the Lollards, otherwise the Waldensian “Brethren,” and to trace the teaching which at the same time illumined the sermons of Dr. Tauler at Strasburg and Cologne, and the wayside preaching of Henry Suso, and broke forth at last in the light of the Reformation.

“For,” writes Ullmann, “if we consider what it was which made Luther and his fellow reformers what they were, we shall find that it was by no means the example of a Huss, a Savonarola, and other martyrs of the kind. Neither was it the writings of Wiclif, but totally different elements of Christian experience and theology with which they nourished their minds.

“Their spiritual food was derived mainly from the Biblical and sound mystical divines of Germany and the Netherlands; for more was done in the way of spiritualizing the Christian faith and life by the German and Dutch mystics, more in the way of purifying theology, and conforming it to Scripture, than from the very nature of the case was possible for the more famous and heroic pioneers of the Reformation, the men of conflict and action.

“For the Reformation, viewed in its most general character, is the reaction of Christianity as Gospel, against Christianity as law, and connected with this, between the externalism and internalism of the religious and moral life. In the one case the stress is laid upon the visible at upon the character, number, and extent of the works performed, in short upon what may be weighed and measured in the spiritual life. In the other, it is laid upon what is inmost in the general bias of the mind, upon such imponderable things as faith and sentiment.

“In the one case the language is, Be righteous, and fulfill all the commandments; in the other, Believe and love, and then do what you will and must.

“The extent to which this constitutes the very germ of the Reformation can scarcely be conceived by any other means than an acquaintance with the spiritual manifestations which preceded it. Its forerunners were, almost more than its agents, under the dominion of a Christianity petrified into law, a sort of legal ecclesiasticism; while, at the same time, as the light of free grace and the Spirit, and a knowledge of the true principle of faith had beamed upon their minds from the Gospel, and the writings of Paul, they apprehended the contrast between law and Gospel still more strictly, and stated it more broadly than the Reformers themselves, though equally hostile to all Antinomianism.

“Besides being legalized, the medieval Church had more or less also fallen a prey to the principle of externalism; in opposition to which mysticism, thus also becoming an important preparatory element of the Reformation, asserted the principle of internalism.

“This it not unfrequently did in a sound and vigorous way, but sometimes also with a partial and morbid spiritualism, which, by falsely severing the outward from the inward, laid the whole strain upon the latter; and by this means sank into pure indifference respecting moral actions. The true pioneers of the Reformation occupy the sounder standing-point of an internalism strictly moral, and thoroughly consonant to the practical genius of Christianity. They recognize the love which is the offspring of living, faith, and which never remains mere sentiment, but is always and to an equal degree active, as the true fulfilling of the law. They estimate every outward work solely by the measure of the faith and love from whence it springs.”

Thus far Ullmann―and, as carrying out the same thought in a few words, we have the significant remark of a modern Christian writer: “It is important to observe that the more vigorous and living Christianity is, the more objective it is. It is but saying that God end the Lord Jesus have a greater place in our thoughts, and that we rest more really upon them.”

If we do not draw from this remark the illogical conclusion that the more vigorous and living Christianity is, the less subjective it is, we shall find it a valuable help in distinguishing between the joy, peace, and rest of heart which flow from faith in the object of faith, God and His Word; and the joy and delight, which is mere sentiment, resting upon some vague belief in a God whose goodness is shaped by human thought and feeling.

In the former case the objective faith and love produce, in proportion to their being objective, the subjective and peace. In the latter case, the joy and peace rise and fall with their producing cause; a human religionsness, or a poetical imagination, or even a sound state of health.

We must alto bear in mind that there is a Christianity which may be called objective, but which produces no subjective results. This is the case when the object is not God and the Lord Jesus, but a theological doctrine.

And it is possible to regard the blessed facts of the Gospel simply as doctrines, doctrines perfectly sound, but reached by the mind and not by the heart. Which of us could love a doctrine, even if it were the doctrine of the Atonement? But if the One who atoned for our sin is the object before our eyes, the more clearly we see Him, and the work whereby He has saved us, the more will our hearts feel the “marvelous warmth” which filled the heart of Richard Rolle.

To him it was not theology that “Christ bore His sins in His own Body on the cross,” it was a fact as true to him as that the sun rose in the morning and the stars shone at night. And therefore he rejoiced, and his “works became a song to Christ.” So is it still.

And no doubt we should find therefore far more of the singing and rejoicing saints of God amongst the poor and unlettered and simple.

Were we to travel now to some mountain villages in Dauphine, inhabited only by the poor and unlearned, we should find there in one village after another a company of those who meet together in a simple way to worship God and sing praise, as Richard did, to the Name of Jesus. How came this to be in a region to which Protestants had never wandered—amongst people who had never heard of the Reformation, or known what a Protestant meant?

It came from the reading of a book given by a lady on the quay at Marseilles to a soldier, and carried back by him to his village on the mountains.

He had not cared for the book, except for the binding, and when the curs told him it was a wicked and dangerous book, he gave it to an old neighbor, a laborer called le Pere Jacob. Le Pere Jacob opened it, and saw with unspeakable awe the words on the title-page, “The New Testament of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.” And having taken it into his little room, where he could be all alone, he knelt down and said, “O my God, Monsieur le curd says this is a wicked book, but if it is the Testament of Jesus, it comes from you. And if it does, let it tell me whether I should read it or not.”

And again the Pere Jacob opened the book, and he saw these words: “If we receive the witness of men, the witness of God is greater; and this is the witness of God which He hath, testified of His Son.”

And the Pere Jacob thanked God that he might read it.

And again he opened it, and saw the wonderful words. “He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life.” And the Pere Jacob sprang to his feet, and in a loud voice he thanked God that the word was not “shall have,” but “hath.” “For,” he said, “if it is so, I have everlasting life, for I believe in Jesus. It must be so.”

And when the Pere Jacob had read more of his book, he called his neighbors together and told them the joyful news, and they too believed, and they met tether often, and thanked God, and prayed to Him.

And they said to one another, “The book tells us to eat bread and drink wine in remembrance of the Lord’s death,” and they did so.

But it grieved them that they could not praise God by singing hymns, as the book directed, for they had no hymns. But one day Pere Jacob met a colporteur on the mountains, who was selling hymn-books. And as he was also selling New Testaments, it seemed to be certain that the hymn-books were of the right sort, and the people bought themselves Testaments and hymn-books.

And the worst ruffian in the villages round, who drank and fought, and beat his wife and kicked his children, came to the Lord and was saved, and on Sundays the children sit on his knee, and he teaches them to sing to Jesus.

So flows on the river of the water of life, from which Gertrude and Mechthild and Richard Rolle drank in olden times; and to which the weary and the thirsty are coming still; “the Rock,” said Richard, “which God clave in the bare wilderness, Jesus pierced for us on the cross, the fullness of God’s grace flowing from Him to men out of the mickle depths.”

Chapter 17.

The Lady Julian.

AT the time when Richard Rolle was called from his hermit’s cell to be with his Lord in Paradise, a little girl of six years old was living in some old manor-house in Norfolk. We may suppose she was of noble birth, as she is called in old county records “the Lady Julian.” Probably her name was given her in honor of S. Julian, to whom an ancient church in Norwich was dedicated.

This church had been given by King Stephen to the nuns of Carrow, in the suburbs of Norwich. Not that they made use of it themselves, but the revenues of the church went to the support of their house. It was to this Benedictine nunnery of Carrow that the little Lady Julian was sent for education. We hear no more of her young days, except that she describes herself as an “unlettered girl.”

By this it would appear, not that the education given by the nuns failed to comprise reading and writing, but rather that it was merely the ordinary education of girls in her rank of life.

We next hear of her, when still young, as an anchoress inhabiting the cell in S. Julian’s church yard at Norwich. This cell was reserved for a single anchoress or recluse, and is known to have existed in the east part of the present churchyard. Such anchorages were not uncommon—we already know of those at Oxford, and of the one inhabited by the anchoress Margaret, the friend of Richard Rolle; and in 1362 we find that Henry, Duke of Lancaster, granted certain cottages and lands to support two recluses in cells in the churchyard of Whalley, in order that they might pray for the souls of the Duke, his ancestors, and his heirs.

Frequently the recluses were walled up in there cells, having no communication with the outer world, but having a grated window opening into the church, through which they could hear mass, and receive the host, and through which also their food was passed in, and visitors who were allowed to see them might there converse with them. But in the case of the anchorage of S. Julian’s, it would appear there was also an outer door, and friends might pass in and out.

Norwich, “the city of gardens,” was in those days a fair and stately town of half-timbered houses; perhaps in the Jewish quarter, houses of stone. But the Guildhall was still a timbered but thatched with reeds. In the reign of King John, the city had been taken by the Dauphin Louis, and troublous times had followed, so that it was nearly eighty years later that the strong flint walls were built, with twelve gates and forty towers, to guard the city from all further invasions. Meanwhile, during those troublous times, much building had been carried on. There had been for some time a Benedictine monastery, two nunneries, including the nunnery of Carrow, and a monastic college.

But in the year 1226 the Black Friars had arrived, and there followed them the Austin Friars, the Gray Friars, and the White Friars, besides friars of lesser orders. The Black Friars had built for themselves a stately house, only finished in the year 1309. The beautiful cloisters still remain. And whereas in the time of Edward the Confessor there were but twenty-five parish churches, there were in the reign of Edward II. no less than fifty-eight within the wails, besides the beautiful cathedral, and a conventual church.

There were besides four hospitals, each one with a chapel, and there were many cells and anchorages for hermits and hermitesses. Each of the twelve gates had a hermit’s cell attached, and outside five of the gates were lazar-houses. There was also a synagogue.

The cathedral, which had been partly burnt down in 1272 by rioters who attacked the disorderly monks, had been repaired and beautified, and the cloisters were begun, which were finished only 133 years later.

And at the time when the Lady Julian was born, the trade of Norwich rose into great importance, for ninny Dutch and Flemish artisans had been brought over by Queen Philippa for the increase and improvement of the wool trade. And King Edward III. and Queen Philippa came several times to the city, and held a tournament, and when the king visited his imprisoned mother at Castle Rising, Philippa held her court at Norwich.

Thus the city became wealthy and prosperous, and many things were passing, of which Julian in her cell knew little or nothing, except from the ringing of bells and sounding of trumpets, and from shouts and songs that reached her ears from the busy streets, and the open casements of the timbered houses.

The first mention of her early days is in the second chapter of the book written by her in her little cell. It is as follows: “The Lord revealed Himself to one, simple and unlettered, living in mortal flesh, the year of our Lord one thousand three hundred and seventy-three, the eighth day of May. And that simple soul had before that day requested three gifts by the grace of God.

“Firstly, that there might be given to me a more true mind of that which Christ had suffered-suffered for me. I asked not for visions or revelations. And, secondly, not from my own heart or mind there came to me a desire, which turned into a continual prayer, that God would send me a bodily illness.

“And I prayed that this illness might be of so deadly a sort, that to me and to others it might seem that only death were before me. And I desired that all earthly comfort might be withdrawn from me, and all spiritual fear and suffering and temptation might encompass me, and that notwithstanding I might not die, but thenceforward, as never heretofore, live to God.

“And yet I knew not whether so singular a prayer were truly according to the mind of God, and thinking thereon, I said: ― ‘Lord, Thou knowest what I desire of Thee, and if it be according to Thy will, Thou knowest. But if not, O beloved Lord, forgive Thou my simplicity, for Thou knowest I desire only that Thy will, not mine, should be done.’

“I had desired this illness from my youth up, and also that it should be when I was thirty years old, which age I had now attained.

“And thirdly, I asked that by the grace of God I might have a true sorrow for sin, and tender compassion for others, and a continual yielding up of my will and of myself to God. The first two requests I made with a condition, saying, ‘O Lord, Thou knowest what I would, and if that it be Thy will that I might have it. And if it be not Thy will, good Lord, be not displeased, for I will not but as Thou ‘wilt.’ But as to the third request, I asked it mightily, without any condition.” Thus we have our first picture of this soul, longing after God and in her “simplicity” consigning herself to a lifelong imprisonment in a churchyard.

All around her the pleasant “city of gardens,” the stately and busy city, where kings and nobles came arm went, and men bought and sold, and planted and builded. And meanwhile to Julian there was no world beyond her little cell, and she was glad to be there alone and apart.

The Lord had pity on her ignorance of His will. And we also pity her, though to us, perhaps, neither the need nor the profit of such seclusion can be known. And He came “to sup with her, and she with Him.”

“When,” she continues, “I was thirty years and six months old, God sent me a bodily illness, wherein I lay three days and nights, and on the fourth night the last rites of the Church were performed, and I did not believe that I should live till the morning. After this I lay two days and two nights, and on the third night I thought, as did they who were with me, that I was passing into the eternal land. And thereupon I felt a longing desire that I might not die; not because of any earthly thing which held me back, nor because of any fear of the eternal doom, for I trusted in the goodness of the Lord. But I wished to live that I might love the Lord more truly here below, that I might thereby have the more knowing and loving of Him in the bliss of Heaven. I thought, ‘O beloved Lord, shall I not live yet awhile to Thy glory here below!”

But as the night passed, death seemed to draw nearer, and when “the preacher” came, to whom tidings had been sent that the hermitess was dying, she could no longer speak or see. All was dark around her, and she said in her heart, “The will of the Lord be done.”

Then suddenly all the pain and darkness passed away, and she felt that she was healed. It was a sorrow to her to be brought back from the gates of the Heavenly City, but she remembered her prayer of old, and saw that the answer had been given.

And she therefore asked that her second petition might also now be granted, that she should have a sense as never before of the sufferings of the Saviour. But she did not ask for a vision. It was with the eyes of faith that she saw the Blood flow down from beneath the crown of thorns; and she knew in her heart that He who is God and Man had suffered thus for her.

“And the Lord,” she wrote, “my beloved Lord, showed me, not by sight, but by spiritual sense, His marvelous and tender love. I saw that He is all that for our good or our comfort can be needed, for all eternal years. He is our garment, clothing us with love, wrapping and embracing and enclosing us forever. An eternal robe of tender love clasped around us, never to be taken from us through the everlasting ages. And I saw that all that is pure and perfect good, is Christ the Lord. That all good in all and everything is Himself.

“And it seemed to me as though there were laid before me a little thing, round as a ball, and large as a hazel-nut, upon which I looked with the eye of my understanding, and I thought, What may this be? And the answer came to me, ‘It is all that is made.’ I marveled how it could last, for methought it might suddenly have fallen to naught for littleness, and it became as a point that vanished as I beheld it. But it was as though the Lord spake to me and said, ‘It lasteth, and it shall ever last, for God loveth it, and because of the love of God are the eternal things eternal.’

“Therefore in this little thing I saw three properties. The first is that God made it. The second is that God loveth it. The third is that God keepeth it. And the cause why we be not all in ease of heart and soul, is that we seek our rest in this thing that is so little, where no rest is, and we know not our God, who is the Maker, and the Lover, and the Keeper.

“For all that is beneath Him sufficeth us not. And the natural yearning of the soul that is touched by the Holy Ghost is this: ‘God, of Thy goodness give me Thyself, for Thou art enough to me. And I may ask nothing that is less, that is fully worship to thee. And if I ask anything that is less, ever me wanteth. But only in Thee have I all.’

“For He is the endlessness, and it was for Himself alone that He created us; and for Himself alone did He create us anew by His precious death, and therefore does He preserve us for Himself in His blessed love. And all this is from His own goodness, and for His own sake.

“And then it came into my mind how different would be the manner of our prayers, were we not so slow to learn His love. For the highest prayer is that which is a complete trust in His perfect love—His love that flows down to the lowest depth of our smallest need, and revives our souls, and makes them to live and grow in grace and beauty.

“God hateth not that which He has made, and He despiseth not the joy of serving us, even in the lowest service rendered to our bodily and natural needs, for our earthly bodies are dear to Him, because of the soul that was made in His image, and that dwells in the body. And as the body is enwrapped in garments, and the flesh enclosed in the skin, so are we, body and soul, enwrapped and enclosed in His eternal love. Yea, and more soothly, for all they shall wear and waste away, but the goodness of God is Forever more and more near to us without any comparison. And therefore does He desire of us that we should, abide in His love, and this delighteth Him more, and speedeth us more in holiness, than aught that we could devise ourselves. For never was a creature who could know or conceive how sweetly and how tenderly the Creator loves, in that our soul is so preciously loved of Him that is highest, that it overpasseth the knowing tit all creatures. When it is our desire to have God, Immeasurably more is it His goodwill to have us, and to have us eternally. And therefore we may, with His grace and help, stand in spiritual beholding, with everlasting marveling, in this high, overpassing, unmeasurable love. And of all things, the beholding of the love of God maketh a soul to seem least in her own sight, and most filleth her with reverent dread and true meekness, and with abounding love to her fellow Christians.”

Chapter 18.

Converse with Christ.

“No other voice than Thine has ever spoken,

O Lord, to me―

No other words but Thine the stillness broken

Of life’s lone sea.

There openeth the spirit’s silent chamber

No other hand―

No other lips can speak the language tender

Speech of the Fatherland.

For others speak to one the eye beholdeth,

Who veils the soul within;

Some know not all the joy, and all the sorrow,

And none know all the sin.

They speak to one they love, it may be blindly

Or hate as it may be―

Full well I know they speak to the illusion,

Thou speakest, Lord, to me.

It is unto the sheep the Shepherd calleth,

His voice they know―

No voice beside can lead them to the pastures

Where fountains flow.

None other tells unto my soul the secret,

The mystery Divine―

The love that maketh glad the inner chambers,

His Home and mine.

Eye hath not seen the things whereof He telleth,

Ear hath not heard―

Man hath no thought that thereunto upreacheth,

His speech no word.

And therefore well I know Thy voice, Lord Jesus,

Thy speech divine —

I know the marvel and the mystery

That I am Thine.”

―T. S. M.

AND after this illness, as time went on, did the Lord manifest Himself often and tenderly to the soul He loved; and He spake with her, and she with Him, continually.

“To my heart He spake, and said to me, Art thou satisfied that I have suffered all for thee?’ I answered, ‘Yea, beloved Lord, I thank Thee that Thou hast suffered all, and I bless Thee for it.’

“And the Lord said to me, If Thou art satisfied, I am satisfied. It is a joy to Me, a delight and gladness unspeakable and eternal, that I have borne the judgment in thy place. Could I have suffered yet more, I would have suffered it for love to thee.’

“The work of the Father moreover is this, that He gives a great reward to His Son Christ Jesus. This gift and guerdon is to Jesus so precious, that naught could be given to Him by His Father which He would hold so dear. The Father delighted in every act which the Lord Jesus performed for our redemption; therefore we are not only His because He redeemed us, but because we are given to Him by the love of His Father. Therefore are we His delight, His great reward, His glory, and His crown.

“This is the miracle of the love of God, that we are the joy and crown of Christ. So great a joy and delight are we to Him, that therefore did He count as nothing the cross and shame, the pain and sorrow of His Passion. All did He count as nothing, because of His deep love to us.

“For though He could suffer and die but once, the love which brought Him to the cross is an eternal, ever-flowing love. Each day is His love to us the same love as on the day of His Passion.

“Of this spake He to my heart, saying that were He to create for me new heavens and a new earth, this would be small in comparison with His suffering and His death. For He could, if He willed it, create every day new heavens and a new earth, with no cost to Himself; He had but to speak and they would be created. But the love that spake by His one sacrifice, is the love which speaks day by day unceasingly-unchangeable and eternal; the endless love, which was from the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.

“Thus spake He to me in blessed heavenly speech, saying, ‘Behold how I love thee!’ As if He had ‘My sister, my love, behold thy Lord, thy God, thy Creator, and thine eternal joy; behold thy Salvation, O my child; behold what joy and delight and blessedness I have in redeeming thee for Myself; and in love to Me rejoice with Me that I have found the sheep that I had lost.’

“And again, that I might drink more deeply into the meaning of those blessed words, did He repeat them to my heart, ‘Behold how I love thee!’ as if He had ‘Behold and see how deep is this My love, in that I died for thee, and loved to die for thee. And now that I have died for thee, and suffered so willingly for thee, all My bitter sorrow, and all the travail of My soul, is turned into everlasting joy and blessedness for Me, O My beloved, and for thee.

“How then could it be possible that thou shouldst ask of Me aught that is pleasing in My sight, and that I should not gladly give it thee? For My good pleasure is that thou shouldst be sanctified wholly, and share with Me the immeasurable joy and blessedness.’

“This is the simple meaning, so far as words can express it, of the heavenly speech of the Lord when speaking to my soul: ‘If more I could have suffered, willingly would I have suffered more.’ He could die no more, but He could never cease to love.

“The mother lays her child tenderly on her breast; but Jesus through His open side draws us in sweetest love within His Breast, and shows us the secrets of God, the joys of Heaven, the safety and the blessedness that are eternal. Thus again and again He saith, ‘Behold how I love thee!’

“The mother knows and considers the needs of her child, and tenderly cares for every want; and when it is older and is growing up, she alters her treatment of it, but not her love to it. And as years go by, she leaves it at times to be chastised, that thus it may be kept from evil.

“And in our years of spiritual growth there is yet no comparison between the mother’s love and the tender love and care of the Lord, inasmuch as the soul is far dearer to Him than the child is to the mother. When we fall, He lifts us up in the tender embrace of His arms, though at times He permits us to fall so heavily, that we think that all was a deceiving of ourselves, and that we had never begun to walk in His ways. But as a mother may allow her willful child to fall in the way it has chosen, but yet would watch to see that it came to no harm the while, so Both Jesus watch, that none of His children may be lost; for He is All-might, All-wisdom, and All-love. None like Jesus our Lord!

“Sometimes when we have fallen, and are thereby shown our sinfulness, we are so cast down, and so ashamed of ourselves, that we know not which way to turn. But He who loves us as a tender mother, desires not that we should fly from His Presence—nothing would be less according to His desire—but He would that we should do as little children do, who, when they are hurt, or are grieved, run straight to their mother, and when they can do naught else, they cry to their loving mother for comfort and for help.

“Thus would the Lord have us do; He would have us cry to Him, and look for His pitying love, telling film we have fallen and bemired ourselves, and made ourselves unlike to Him, and that we can do nothing to help ourselves―we depend only on His love and grace.”

“And after this,” writes Julian, “the Lord manifested Himself yet further to my soul. I saw Him as the Lord in glory; in a glory beyond all thoughts that had entered my mind before.

“I saw Him as the fullness of joy; loving, gracious, full of blessing, the Life Eternal.

“And oft times did He speak to me, and say, I am. I am. I am. I am He the altogether lovely. I am He, the Most High God. I am He whom thou lovest. I am He in whom thou delightest. I am He whom thou servest. I am He for whom thou longest. I am He whom thou desirest. I am He to whom thine heart is drawn. I am He who is All, and in all. So spake He in words which I cannot write or utter, words passing all my understanding, and all my thoughts, for therein is comprehended I cannot tell what; and it was truly this, that my Lord showed Himself to me more glorified than ever I saw Him before, and I saw that our soul shall never have rest till it come unto Him, knowing that He is full of joy, and tender, and blissful, and very life. And the joy which was given me was beyond all that the heart can conceive, or the soul desire, or the tongue can tell. Therefore these words be not declared here. The soul had entered into the Holiest, where all keepeth silence before Him.”

But at other times the silence was broken by prayer and adoration, For Julian was much in prayer; and in days when the repetition of Paternosters, and the counting of prayers upon a rosary, satisfied, or rather did not satisfy, the multitudes around her, she wrote as the Lord taught her, that which may lead many now to deeper thoughts of prayer and worship.

“Prayer is a true, a longing, a persistent will of the soul, clinging and cleaving to the will of God, by the sweet and marvelous power of the Holy Ghost. It is the Lord Himself, without any intermediary, who receives our prayers, and gives thanks for them, and rejoices over them with unspeakable joy.

“And He carries them within, into the house of His treasures, and lays them up where they shall never be lost.

“‘Pray continually,’ He saith to us; ‘pray if thou seem to thyself too unworthy to pray. Pray when thy heart is dry, and poor, and weary. Pray in sickness and in weakness, and when even prayer seems to thee a burden and a dreary task. It is not what thy prayer is to thee, but what it is to Me, that I would have thee consider and rejoice in.’

“Therefore let us trust the Lord’s love rather than the feelings of our own hearts. For as far as we trust, are our prayers to the honor of God. For our difficulty in prayer, it seems to me, arises from this, that we have not realized that it is from God Himself that our prayer flows forth. He is the moving spring which leads us to pray. It is His will to answer us, and it is He who leads us to desire the blessing we ask for. And He delights in our prayer, and rewards the prayer with everlasting recompenses, though He it is who has moved us to pray, and put the words into our lips, “It is as if He said, ‘How canst thou delight Me more than in praying mightily, wisely, and gladly, that I would do that which it is My will to do?’

“But when our loving Lord in His unutterable grace shows Himself, even Himself, to our souls, then is all prayer answered, and all desire fulfilled. Then is a moment when we can pray no more, for there is no more left to desire, and all our intent with all our might is set whole unto the beholding of Him. Yet this too is a prayer-the highest, deepest prayer-an unutterable prayer. Our souls are filled with this joy of reverence, the sweetest joy, the fathomless joy of His Presence.

“Yet well do I know that the more we behold in Him, the more do we long after Him. It is when our eyes are turned away from Him that our souls become disturbed and confused, and restless. And then is the time to pray afresh, and the joy of His countenance again is ours.

“Then do we see His mighty and ceaseless working in all things and circumstances around us; we see a power so glorious and so divine ordering all things, that we have nothing to do but simply to behold it, and take heed to it, and rejoice in His love, and delight our souls in His tenderness.

“And thus walking humbly and joyfully with Him, we shall pass through this earthly life, noting many a sweet touch of His loving Hand, Himself revealed everywhere to us, as far as our earthly condition can bear the blessedness of His companionship.

“This is the constant unceasing work of the Holy Ghost, till our mortal bodies can endure no more of such overwhelming love, and we die of the longing desire for Himself, passing through death into the light of His Presence, and into the boundless ocean of His blessedness, to lose ourselves in Him, knowing Him as we are known, possessing Him forever and forever.

“And meanwhile it is His desire for us, that we should live rejoicing in His love. It is to this that we are blind, more blind than to aught besides. For some of us believe that God is Almighty, and can do all things, and that He is All-wise and that lie knows all things, but that He is All-love, and will do all for us; therein we fail, and it is the want of perception of His love that hinders His children the most.

“For when we begin to hate sin, and to desire to amend ourselves, a fear takes possession of us, which clouds our sight with the mists that arise from looking at ourselves and our sins.

“It is true that we are daily sinning, and at times fall so low that it is a shame to speak of the sin into which we have fallen. And if we fasten our eyes upon the sin, it becomes to us so weary a burden that we find no comfort anywhere, only misery and fear and shame.

“And this fear we take for humility; but it is a foul blindness, and a wickedness that we do not shrink from as from a known sin, because we fail in a right judgment of ourselves through our ignorance and unbelief.

“Never can it please our Lord that His servants should doubt His love. In His tender grace He forgets our sins, when sorrowful and repentant we turn to Him; and He would have us also to forget the things behind, the sin, and the weary burden, and the unbelieving fear.

“The fear of reverence and of awe is pleasing to God. It is a tender fear, and the more we have of it the less is it fear, because of the sweetness of the love that causes it. This fear and love are brothers. And therefore sure am I that he who loves fears, yet is not afraid. All other fear, though it may wear the garment of holiness, is a dangerous fear.

“Thus may we discern the good fear and the evil fear. The good fear makes us fly from all that is evil in the eyes of God, to cast ourselves into His arms, as a child will fly to his mother. With all our soul and all our desire shall we fly to Him, knowing our weakness and our great need, and knowing also His eternal tenderness, and His blessed love, in Him alone seeking deliverance, cleaving to Him alone.

“Our greatest wisdom is to do according to the will and counsel of our best friend. And this blessed Friend is Jesus, and His will and counsel is that we should take refuge in Him, and abide in Him; coming to Him clean or bemired, His love is the same in every case.

“Neither in weal or woe would He have us look to any besides Himself. Therefore when we hear a voice saying to us, Thou seest what a worthless sinner thou art, unfaithful to thy Saviour, breaking troth with Him, falling back into the very sin thou hast confessed, unfit and unworthy to go again and again to Him; ‘let us be aware that it is the voice of the enemy, armed with the false fear, who would seek by means of grief and shame to drive us back from the blessed Presence of our eternal Friend.

“All that wars against love and peace is from the enemy. Through our weakness and foolishness we fall, but through the love and compassion of the Holy Ghost do we rise again to higher joy. Therefore if the enemy gains somewhat by our fall, he loses far more by our lifting up, and by the love and humility which is thus wrought into the being of our souls.

“It is this restoring love and the blessed joy of forgiveness which He dreads, and from which He would forever hold us back.”

Chapter 19.

Questionings.

YET Julian was not without days of doubt and questioning—for there were mysteries in this earthly life, and in the revelation of God, which troubled and perplexed her. The fact of sin was bewildering to her, for “I saw,” she said, “that if sin had never been, then should we all have been pure and clean, and in the image of God as at first. And in my foolishness I marveled often how it could be that God in His great wisdom had not prevented the first beginning of sin—for then, it seemed to me, all would have been well.

“I ought to have given up all endeavors to unravel this mystery, yet I continued to trouble and weary myself in considering it.

“The Lord Jesus, who knew my trouble, spake to me at times, saying, ‘Sin is serviceable, for God will turn it to good—yes, He will turn it to good everlasting.’

“And when I saw that it was because of sin that He suffered, I saw that there was an eternal joy which could not have been but for sin.

“And I saw also that God’s servants, His holy Church here below, must be shaken by sorrows and troubles and sufferings, as a garment is shaken in the keen wind, to cleanse and refresh it, and the Lord’s voice spake in my heart, ‘O what a glorious Church will I make of it thereby, so that it shall rejoice in Heaven in unspeakable blessedness and eternal gladness!’

“And I saw that the Lord rejoiced with a compassionate joy over the sorrows of His beloved; all whom He will bring to the blessed land. They are humbled, and despised, and mocked at, and rejected in this world; and He allows it, in order to hinder the greater misery that would befall them were the praise and the glory of this evil world to be their lot.

“Thus doth He lead them in the path that ends in Heaven, in the eternal, unfathomable joy.

“ ‘And in this manner, my beloved,’ He saith, wilt I train you in gentleness and meekness and holiness, so that all shall turn to glory and to gladness for you, by reason of that which I have suffered;’ and He showed me also that we are not suffering alone, but with Him—partakers of the suffer—of Christ.”

Yet the old doubts and the dark clouds of perplexity would return again and again, and Julian would be lost at times in wonder and dismay when she saw the misery which sin had brought upon the creatures of God.

And she entreated the Lord that He would allow her to know, to the comfort of her heart, that which would explain this mystery.

“And our blessed Lord answered me gently and tenderly in His loving grace, and showed me that the sin of Adam was the greatest evil and sorrow that had ever arisen, or could arise, to the time of the end.

“And further He showed me that I should now turn and look at the glorious atonement; for this atonement is more pleasing to the blessed God and more glorious, as being the work of man’s redemption; yea, incomparably more pleasing than the sin of Adam was sad and sorrowful.

“And He gave me to understand that it were far better to be occupied with Him and rejoice in Him, as He rejoices in us, than to seek to enter into the treasury of His secret things. For He has revealed to us that which relates to our redemption; but there are secrets that are His own, and belong to His sovereign counsels, concerning which He is silent, and it is well for us to remain in ignorance concerning them.

“The Lord pities us for our vain curiosity, and our fruitless striving to know that which is laid up amongst His hidden treasures. The saints in Heaven desire only to know that which He reveals to them; and thus I too was taught to rejoice only in our blessed Saviour Jesus, and to trust Him for all things.

“And thus to all my questionings and doubts He answered only in words of comfort, ‘It is My good pleasure to do all things well. I can do all things well. I shall do all things well. I will do all things well; and thou shalt one day see that all is well.’

“And in these five sayings God willeth that we be enclosed in eternal rest and peace. And thus shall the spiritual thirst of Christ have an end. For in regard that Christ is our Head, He is glorified and He suffereth no more; and in regard of His Body, in which all His members be knit, He is not yet full glorified, and He suffereth still. For the same thirst which He had upon the rood-tree (which desire, longing and thirst, as to my sight, was in Him from without beginning), the same hath He yet, and shall have, unto the time that the last soul that shall be saved, is come up to His bliss.

“For as truly as there is a property in God of ruth and pity, as verily there is in God a property of thirst and longing; and because of this longing in Christ there cometh to us a longing after Him. And without this longing in the heart of Christ, there would none of us enter Heaven; this longing and this thirst, which arise from the unfathomable love.

“Thus is it in Him and in us, a love-longing that lasteth, and ever shall, till we see Him at doomsday. For we that now are saved, and shall be Christ’s joy and bliss, be yet here, and some be to come, anti therefore His thirst and love-longing, and ours together with His, shall be quenched at that day when He rejoiceth in drawing us all together up to His bliss. Thus He hath now a thirst which is lasting in Him as long as we be in need, and He hath longing to have us with Himself; but His wisdom and His love suffer not the same to come till the best time.

“We know in our faith that Christ Jesus is both God and man, and in regard to the Godhead He is Himself highest bliss, and was from without beginning, and shall be without end; which very endless bliss may never be heightened or lowered in itself. And in regard of His manhood His pains, and passion, and death, which He suffered for love to bring us to His bliss, are the works wherein He rejoiceth.

“Even as He spake to my soul, saying, ‘It is a joy, a bliss, and endless delight to Me, that ever I suffered passion for thee.’ For inasmuch as He was most tender and pure, right so He was most strong and mighty to suffer. And for every man’s sin that shall be saved He suffered, and every man’s sorrow, desolation, and anguish. As long as He could suffer, He suffered for us and sorrowed for us.

“And now He is uprisien, and pain can touch Him no more, yet He suffereth with us, and the love that made Him to suffer, it passeth as far all His pains as heaven is above earth. For the pain was a noble, precious, and worshipful deed, done in time by the working of love; but love was without beginning, is, and shall be without end; for which love He said lull sweetly, ‘If I might suffer more, I would suffer more.’

“This deed and this work of our salvation was ordained as well as God might ordain it; it was done as worshipfully as Christ might do it; and herein I saw a full bliss in Christ, for His bliss should not have been full, if it might any better have been done than it was done.

“And thus hath He shown to us a fair and delectable place, large enough for all mankind that should be saved, and rest in peace and love. This our good Lord showeth us to make us glad and merry. When we all shall be there above, then in the light of God we shall clearly see the mysteries which are now hidden from our eyes. And there will not be one of as who will find occasion to say as regards any single thing, ‘Lord, had it been thus, or thus, then all would have been well;’ but we shall all say with one voice, ‘Lord, praised and blessed be Thy name, because all is as it is, for all is good.’ And then shall we see Ind know that all that has happened and that was, and that is, was ordered by Thy wisdom before the worlds were created.”

Chapter 20.

The Mystery of Sin.

“‘In the distant land of famine,

Craving with the swine to feed—

Oh, how bitter that awakening

To my sin, and shame, and need!

Dark and dreary all around me,

Now no more by sin beguiled,

I would go and seek toy Father,

Be a bondsman, not a child.

‘Yet a great way off He saw me,

Ran to kiss me as I came—

As I was my Father loved me,

Loved me in my sin and shame.

Then in bitter grief I told Him

Of the evil I had done,

Sinned in scorn of Him, my Father,

Was not meet to be His son.

‘But I know not if He listened,

For He spake not of my sin—

He within His house would have me,

Make me meet to enter in:

From the riches of His glory

Brought His costliest raiment forth,

Brought the ring that sealed His purpose,

Shoes to tread His golden courts.

‘Put them on me—robes of glory,

Spotless as the heavens above;

Not to meet my thoughts of fitness,

But His wondrous thoughts of love.

Then within His home He led me,

Brought me where the feast was spread,

Made me eat with Him my Father,

I, who begged for bondsman’s bread!

‘Not a suppliant at His gateway,

But a son within His home,

To the love, the joy, the singing,

To the glory I am come.

Gathered round that wondrous temple.

Filled with awe His angels see

Glory lighting up the Holiest,

In that glory Him and me.

‘There He dwells, in me rejoicing,

Love resplendent in His face―

There I dwell in Him rejoicing,

None but I can know His grace.

To that blessed inner chamber

Ground no other foot can tread―

He has brought the lost and found one,

Him who liveth and was dead.’

This the ransomed sinner’s story,

All the Father’s heart made known―

All His grace to me, the sinner,

Told by judgment on His Son.

Told by Him from depths of anguish,

All the Father’s love for me,

By the curse, the cross, the darkness,

Measuring what that love must be.”

For a time another question arose and perplexed this simple child of God. “On the one side,” she says, “I beheld the sinner, and saw that he deserved the wrath and the condemnation of God, and therefore needed an entire forgiveness. On the other side I beheld the fathomless ocean of the goodness and love of God, wherein no condemnation, no wrath could be. And how then are both to exist together?

“For it seemed to me that the loving eyes of God rested upon men who were sinful, as though sin were not.

“And I knew also that our gracious Lord, the Holy Ghost, who is the everlasting Life dwelling in our souls, guards and keeps us in His faithful love, and sheds abroad in our souls a blessed peace, and leads us into quiet resting-places, and conforms our hearts to the heart of God. So that goodness and mercy follow us, and in no other path does the Lord lead us through this changeful life here below. And I found daily in this loving God, no wrath, but an impossibility that He should be angry, or be aught else but love.

“How then can it be, that as I have been taught from my youth, and as I know in my own heart, that the condemnation of our sins is just; and that from the day that Adam sinned, till the day when we all enter into Heaven, sin besets us, and none of us are sinless.

“Yet I beheld with wonder, that the Lord our God sees no more sin upon us than if we were pure and holy as the angels in Heaven. And the thought of these two facts, so absolutely contrary the one to the other, pressed upon my reason, and troubled me unspeakably. And because of this my blindness, I had no rest in my mind from nameless fear.

“Then did I cry mightily from my innermost heart to God, and I said, ‘O Lord Jesus, Thou blessed One, how shall I be delivered from this questioning? Who will tell me and teach me what it is needful to know of that which so troubles me?’

“Then did our gracious Lord answer me, revealing to me the secret of His heart, and made me see, as it were in a picture in my mind, that which answered my questioning.”

The picture, described in words which here and there betray the imperfect teaching of those twilight days, is one which a believer now may recognize as an outline of the Gospel story so well known to his inmost heart. An outline dim and sometimes confused, but the old old story still, told to all the ages wince it was spoken by the lips of Christ; and even before those ages, told in prophecy and picture to the saints of God.

It was the picture of one in the form of a servant, clothed in a workman’s raiment—white, but torn—standing before his Lord, ready to do His will. And his Lord sat solemnly in rest and peace, and looked upon him in love and blessed gladness, and sent him forth to his labor, to do His behests. And the servant not only went, but ran, for he delighted to do the will of his Lord.

Then did it seem as though the servant had fallen in to a deep and awful pit, “and,” writes Julian, “I saw him sigh and groan, and lie in weakness and pain at the bottom of the pit. But I saw that his greatest sorrow was that he could no longer see the race of his Lord, who was yet so near him. And I saw that in him there was no sin, not a single fault for which he could be suffering thus. He was the same as when he stood before his Lord, ready to do His will with sweet delight. And I saw the eyes of his Lord; as before, bent upon him in tender love, and with yet an added love, as it were a new and marvelous love beyond the love that was at first. And it was as if the Lord spake and said, ‘Is it not reason that I reward My beloved servant for His pain and His dread, His hurt and His maim, and all His woe? And not only this, but falleth it not to Me to give Him a gift; that be better to Him, and more worshipful than His own healing should have been—or else methinketh I did Him no grace?’ And the lovely looking wherewith He looked on His servant continually, and namely, in His falling, methought it might melt our hearts for love, and break them with excess of joy. This fair looking showed of a medley which was marvelous to behold. The one was ruth and pity, the other joy and bliss. The joy and bliss passeth as far the ruth and pity as heaven is above earth: the pity was earthly, and the bliss heavenly.

“Then was my soul led on to a day yet to come, the day of the restitution of all things. And I saw how the Lord God rejoiced over the high and glorious rest into which He brings His servant in the fullness of His love. I saw that not only His great love, but His own honor and glory, made it needful that He should bestow a great reward upon His faithful servant. And that the fall into the dismal pit, and the darkness and sorrow, must be transformed into the highest glory, and into eternal gladness.

“Then did the Lord reveal to my heart the meaning of this picture. That the servant is none other than Christ the Son of God. And yet the servant is also Adam; that is to say, all men looked at as together one man only; and it is as though the Son said, ‘Lo, my Father, I stand before Thee in Adam’s kirtle.’ And as Adam fell into the pit of sin and judgment, so did the Lord Jesus fall into the pit of judgment (though not of sin), that He might bring forth Adam from the pit, in the person of those whom He saves, and whom He makes to be one with Himself.

“I saw that the goodness and righteousness we have is Christ our Lord, and that our weakness and blindness is from Adam. And in each one of those who are Christ’s are there these two opposites. But for them is the condemnation no more; for Christ has suffered it, having taken upon Himself our guilt and our judgment. Therefore can God our Father no more impute guilt to us, than He can impute it to His dear worthy Son Jesus Christ.

“Jesus was the servant who, before He came into the world, stood before His Father, ready to His will. His white raiment was His sinless flesh, but in suffering for our sin’s it was torn and rent; for He came at all costs to do the work of our redemption, for the glory of God His Father. And I saw that this work could not be finished short of His death, when he delivered up His Spirit into the Father’s hands; and therewith all the souls of men whom tie had redeemed from death.

“And this garment of flesh, which He took for us, was in His resurrection made new and glorious, and white, as no fuller on earth can whiten. Now standeth He no more before the Father in the form of a servant, but in His raiment of glory and of beauty, in the heavenly robes of state, with a crown upon His head radiant and beautiful.

“And it was shown to me that we are His glorious crown.

“The crown that is the joy of the Father, and the high honor of the Son, and the delight of the Holy Ghost, and the blessed joy of all the heavenly people, who behold it and worship. Thus sitteth He on the Father’s right hand; that is to say, in the highest nobleness of the Father’s joy. And now is God’s Son, the Bridegroom, in peace with His loved wife, which is the fair maiden of endless joy—and now sitteth He, very God and very Man, in His city in rest and in peace, in the gladness which His Father hath prepared for Him of endless purpose.

“And I saw that God rejoices that He is our Father. And that God the Son rejoices that He is our very Bridegroom, and that we are the bride He loveth. And Christ rejoices that we are His brethren, and Jesus rejoices that He is our Saviour. And therefore He desires that we also should rejoice, and praise Him, and thank Him, and sing to Him, and bless His holy Name forever and ever.

“We are a strange mixture whilst we live here below―a mingling of the sweet and the bitter. In us are the evil and the misery of Adam’s fall and death―and at the same time the Lord Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, dwells in us and we in Him.

“Thus did I see in the Lord sorrow and compassion for the misery of Adam—and also did I see in. Him the unspeakable glory, and the high dignity into which the children of Adam are brought through the suffering and death of the Son of God. Therefore can the Lord rejoice even over the fall of Adam, because the place of blessedness to which He raises us is higher far than the place from which Adam fell; and the riches of the glory are far greater than that which Adam lost.

“And thus we both mourn, that our sins caused our Lord’s bitter suffering; and we rejoice because of the unutterable love which His suffering unveils to our eyes. The dwelling of the ascended Christ is in the glory of God. And I verily understood that the tot,1 would have me know, that where the ascended Christ is, there is the birthplace and abiding-place of ail the souls whom He saves.

“For He is the pattern and the object; they are renewed in His image and for Him. Are we not then bound to rejoice with exceeding joy, that God dwells in us? But yet more are we bound to rejoice and be glad, that we dwell in Him. For this were we created, that we should be the holy temple wherein God abideth. And the abiding-place of our souls is the untreated God.

“It is high and heavenly knowledge to know that God dwells in us; but it is a higher and deeper knowledge to see and to know that we are created anew in Christ Jesus; and thus, being from Him and for Him, we dwell in God.

“Thus is Christ the Way, for in Him we are raised up to the place in Heaven into which He has entered. For I saw that Christ and all whom now He saves are one; and that in Himself He presents us and offers us up to God the Father. And the Father rejoices to accept the gift, and receives us into His joy, and presents us afresh as a gift of love to His Son Jesus Christ.”

Chapter 21.

The Temple of God.

AND later on Julian wrote, “My loving Lord opened the eyes of my spirit, and showed me, as it were, my redeemed soul. I saw it as a land stretching far and wide, as it were a boundless world, and a kingdom of eternal blessedness.

“And at the same time I beheld it as a city of fair glory. And there, sitting in His robes of solemn state, beautiful and glorious, was the Lord Jesus, Who is God and man―sitting in the rest and peace eternal into which He entered from the cross and rave.

“For His Manhood sits at rest in the rest of His Godhead, ruling and giving, out of the fullness of His riches, to the soul who adores Him. And the place into which the Lord Jesus has entered, even the soul redeemed, is His eternal house, from which He will nevermore depart through the endless ages, for it is His abiding-place forever and forever.

“And herein did the Lord show to me the blessed gladness which He had in creating the soul of man. For therein did He rejoice with everlasting joy, seeing from the beginning that which would be His delight throughout the eternal years. All things which He has made declare His glory, but it was taught me as in a picture, how a man may be led throughout the fair kingdom of a king, and shown his stately cities, and his wealth, and the rich array of his servants, and his castles, and his towers. And seeing all these things, he wonders and admires, but at last he is taken to the golden palace where the king himself is reigning in his glory, and he knows that this must be the highest and the fairest place, because the king is there.

“So did I understand that the soul can find no rest in the things that are beneath it, and when it turns from these things to behold itself, it sees itself no more, for God is there, and all the temple is filled with His glory.

“God the Creator dwells in the temple He has made. And the radiance of the light, and the clear shining of this blessed city, is the glorious love of the Lord our God.

“What then can make us more to rejoice in God, than the knowledge that He rejoices in us, above and beyond all the works of His hands? For the soul redeemed is the most precious jewel, the fairest in the eyes of God.

“And He would have us therefore to be abiding in the glorious heights above the low places of the earth, and their vain cares and troubles, rejoicing with Him where He is for evermore. And God would have us to see and to delight in this, whilst we are here below; for this is pleasing to Him, and profitable to ourselves.

“And the soul that thus beholds Him in His glory, is changed into the same image from glory to glory; and the rest and peace of God become our rest and peace, for we abide in Him.

“And the Lord, having shown me these things, spike sweetly to my heart, without a voice, but as heart speaketh to heart; and He said, ‘Know that all this is not a dream, but receive it and believe it, and keep thyself in this love, and strengthen thyself therewith, and comfort thyself thereby. So shalt thou overcome.’

He meant that I should receive and believe and remember His blessed sufferings whereby the enemy is overcome, and that I should understand that all the teaching and the strength which had been granted me were not for me alone, but for my fellow Christians also.

“He had not said to me, ‘Thou shalt not be troubled, thou shalt not suffer, thou shalt walk in an easy path;’ but he had said, ‘Thou shalt not be overcome.’ When we look at our God, we cannot fall; and when we look at ourselves, we cannot stand.

“He is here for us alone, and if I turn away from Min through sin, or unbelief, or worldly distractions, I leave my Lord standing alone, a guest without honor.

“From this time I had a great longing that God in His goodness would release me from this earthly life. For had I known no other sorrow in this than that I am absent from Him, it seemed to me this absence was more than I could endure. And this made me sad, and filled me with a yearning desire. And my evil heart struck upon this rock, so that I became weary of living and of working.

“And then did my beloved Lord answer me, that He might strengthen me, and make me patient, saying, ‘Soon shalt thou be taken away from all thy sorrow, and all thy sickness, and all thy weariness, and all thy pain, and thou shalt come up hither, and thou shalt have Me for thine exceeding great reward, and thou shalt be filled to overflowing with joy and blessedness, and thou shalt nevermore suffer, nor be sick, nor be grieved, nor have need of aught; but thou shalt have eternal joy and gladness. Why then shouldest thou be unwilling to suffer a while, if it is My will, and for My glory?’

“So did I see that all our life and our longing down here, is but as the point of a needle; and when in one moment we pass from sorrow into blessedness, sorrow will be as naught. This book was begun through God’s gift and grace, and it may be He would have me write yet more. But when He had taught me all these things, I had oftentimes a longing to know what was the purpose of the Lord therein.

“And for more than fifteen years I had this longing, till at last He spake the answer to my soul, saying, ‘Why desirest thou to know what was the object of thy Lord in teaching thee thus? Know then assuredly, Love was His object. Who showed thee these things? Love. Why did He show them to thee? Out of love. Hold this fast, and thou shalt learn yet more and more. But never to all eternity shalt thou learn aught beside.’”

Chapter 22.

The Message of Love.

“I was journeying in the noontide,

When His light shone o’er my road—

And I saw Him in His glory,

Saw Him—Jesus, Son of God.

All around in noonday splendour

Earthly scenes lay fair and bright—

But my eyes no longer see them

In the glory of that light.

Others in the summer sunshine

Wearily may journey on—

I have seen a light from Heaven

Past the brightness of the sun.

Light that knows no cloud, no waning,

Light wherein I see His Face;

All His love’s uncounted treasures,

All the riches of His grace.

All the wonders of His glory,

Deeper wonders of His love—

How for me He won, He keepeth,

That high place in Heaven above,

Not a glimpse—the veil uplifted—

But within the veil to dwell,

Gazing on His Face for ever,

Hearing words unspeakable.

Marvel not that Christ in glory

All my inmost heart hath won —

Not a star to cheer my darkness,

But a light beyond the sun.

In the radiance of the glory

First I saw His blessed Face,

And forever shall that glory

Be my Home, my dwelling-place.

Sinners, it was not to angels

All this wondrous love was given;

But to one who scorned, despised Him,

Scorned and hated Christ in Heaven.

From the lowest depths of darkness,

To the throne in Heaven on high,

Thus in me He told the measure

Of His love’s great mystery.”

AND meanwhile in the waiting time did the Lord heal and comfort many souls who came to tell their sorrows, and doubts, and fears, to the meek and pitiful woman who lived so near to the heart of Christ. For she did not speak to them of saints, and services, and relics; but of Jesus only.

“And is not Mary to be loved and honored?”

“Yes,” she would say, “for the marvelous, high, singular love that Christ hath to this sweet maiden, His blessed mother. He showeth her bliss and joy―as if He said, ‘Seest thou not that I love her, and wilt thou not joy with Me in the love that I have to her and she to me?’ And know that this sweet word our good Lord speaketh to all that shall be saved, as if He said, ‘Wilt thou see in her how thou art loved?’”

“And is this love for me? I dare not think it.”

“What then is the property of a glad giver? Ever a glad giver taketh but little heed of the thing he giveth; but all his desire, all his intent, is to please him, and solace him to whom he giveth it. And if the receiver take the gift gladly and thankfully, then the courteous giver setteth at naught all his cost and all his travail for the joy and delight he hath, for that he path pleased and solaced him that he loved. And in His deed of love doth Jesus ever joy.

“Think of the greatness of this word EVER. It is from endless pain that He has bought us with His blessed death—it is to His eternal city He has brought us, and made us to be His Crown and endless bliss. Full blissfully does our good Lord say to us, Lo, how I love thee I’ as if He had said, ‘My darling, behold and see thy Lord, thy God, that is thy Maker, and thine endless joy-behold and see what liking and bliss I have in thy salvation, and for My love rejoice with Me. Behold and see that I loved thee so much I died for thee, and that for thee I suffered pain and tribulation which pass so far all that thou mayest suffer, that thought cannot measure it.’”

“But I am a sinner, and vile and evil, and I have done naught to win the love of Christ.”

“Yea, verily, and this is the highest joy that the soul can understand, even that salvation is the work of God Himself. For I in myself do right naught but sin, and my sin shall not hinder the working of His love. And this shall be the highest joy that may be beholden of the deed, that God Himself shall do it, and man shall do right naught but sin.

“And if we bethink us that there are yet those upon whom the wrath of Gad shall come, let us yet know that all that our Lord doeth is rightful, and all that He suffereth to be, is by reason of His high wisdom and His high goodness. And as long as we be in this life, what time that we by our folly turn us to the beholding of the lost ones, tenderly our Lord toucheth us, and blissfully calleth us, saying in our soul, Let Me alone, my dear worthy child; turn thee to Me, I am enough for thee; rejoice than in thy Saviour.’

“For all the souls that shall be saved in Heaven without end, be made righteous in the sight of God by His own goodness. By his sufferance we fall; and in His blessed love, with His might, are we kept; and by mercy and grace are we raised to manifold more joy than if sin had never been.

“For if we look at our Saviour and our salvation, this blessed sight is open, clear, fair, light, and plenteous; for all mankind that is of goodwill, and that shall be, is comprehended in this showing of God. And the other part is hid and shut up from; that is to say, all besides our salvation, for that is out Lord’s privy council, and it belongeth to the royal of lordship of God to have His privy counsels in peace.

“The dear worthy Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, also verily as it is most precious, as verily is it most plenteous. It is a plenty that overfloweth all the earth, and is ready to wash all men from sin which be of goodwill, have been, or shall be.

The precious plenty of His Blood ascendeth up into Heaven in the blessed Person of our Lord Jesus Christ, and there is it as a prayer before God, for evermore. Let us then, rejoice in Him for all that He showeth, and for all that He hideth.”

And often did those who loved the Lord betake themselves to the churchyard of S. Julian’s, for they knew they had there a loving welcome, and would find gladsome cheer. For it was not the case, as we might think, that the solitary life of the Lady Julian led her to be taken up with thoughts of herself alone.

“For,” she said, “the Lord taught me that the love He showed me was His love to all my fellow Christians-not a special love, but a general love, so that if I thought of His goodness to me, by me is understood all. What may make me more to love my fellow Christians, than to see in God that He loveth all that shall be saved, as it were all one soul? and His promise to me of spiritual keeping and secureness comforted me, by the knowing that it was the same keeping and the same secureness for all my fellow Christians.

“And our good Lord showed me how whole a love is that in which we stand in His sight; yea, that He loveth us now, as well, while that we be here, as He shall do when we be there before His blessed Face. And also as to every sin there is an answering pain, so for every sin is given to us a bliss by love.

“And He brought to my mind with gladsome cheer, David, and others in the old law, without number. And in the new law He brought to my mind, first Magdalen, Peter, and Paul, and Thomas, and others without number, how they be known on earth by their sins; but all is turned to fuller worship.

“And it is a sovereign friendship of our loving Lord, that He keepeth us so tenderly whiles we be in our sin; and furthermore, He toucheth us full privily, and showeth us our sin by the sweet light of mercy and grace. For peace and love are ever in us, being and working; but we be not ever in peace and love.

“And when we be stirred by the Holy Ghost, and see ourselves so foul, we weep that God were wroth with us for our sins. And when afterward we find a rest of soul, and softness of conscience, we hope that God has forgiven us our sin, and it is true.

“And then showeth our loving Lord Himself to the soul, with gladsome cheer, with friendly welcoming, as if it had been in pain and in prison, saying thus, ‘My dearly beloved, I am glad thou art come to Me in all thy woe; I have ever been with thee, and now seest thou Me loving, and we rejoice together.’

“Thus are sins forgiven by grace and mercy, and our soul worshipfully received in joy, like as it shall be when it cometh into Heaven, by the gracious working of the Holy Ghost, and the virtue of the Blood of Christ. And therefore, whilst as yet we know not fully all that then we shall know of joy and rest, it befitteth us ever to live in sweet praying, and in lovely longing with our Lord Jesus; for He too longeth ever to bring us to the fullness of joy for evermore.”

But it would seem that some men and women, “stirred by folly,” would argue thus with Julian, “If this be true, then were it good for to sin, to have the more joy at last.”

“Beware,” she said, “of this stirring; for truly, if it come, it is untrue, and of the enemy. For the same true love that teacheth us all this comfort, the same blessed love teacheth us that we should hate sin only for love. And I am sure by my own feeling, the more that each kind soul seeth in this the tender love of our Lord God, the loather is him to sin, and the more he is ashamed. For if all the pain that can be suffered were laid before us, to suffer it rather than sin, we should rather choose all that pain than sin. For sin is so vile and so hateful, that it may be likened to no pain, which pain is not sin. And to me was showed none harder hell than sin.”

And if any came to Julian to complain of the unloving deeds and hard words of their neighbors, she said to them, “God, who is mighty and wise to save, is willing also to save. For He loveth to do good against evil. For He is Himself love, and He Both to us as He teacheth us to do, for He willeth that we be like Him in fullness of endless love to ourselves, and to our fellow Christians.

“No more than His love is broken to us for our sin, no more will He that our love be broken to ourselves nor to our fellow Christians, but that we nakedly hate sin, and endlessly love the soul, as God loveth it.”

Chapter 23.

A Word to the Weary.

“We thank Thee, Lord, for weary days,

When desert springs were dry,

And first we knew the depth of need

Thy love could satisfy.

Days when beneath the desert sun,

Along the toilsome road,

O’er roughest ways we walked with One—

That One the Son of God.

We thank Thee for that rest in Him

The weary only know,

The perfect wondrous sympathy

We needs must learn below.

The sweet companionship of One

Who once the desert trod;

The glorious fellowship with One

Upon the throne of God.

The joy no desolations here

Can reach, or cloud, or dim;

The present Lord, the living God,

And we alone with Him.

We know Him as we could not know

Through Heaven’s golden years;

We there shall see His glorious Face,

But Mary saw His tears.

The touch that heals the broken heart

Is never felt above;

His angels know His blessedness,

His way-worn saints His love.

And now in perfect peace we go,

Along the way He trod,

Still learning from all need below,

Depths of the heart of God.”

AND others came who were cast down and weary in heart, because they prayed much and often, and it seemed to them that God gave no heed to their prayers; and they feared that they were not amongst His beloved ones, and therefore He heard them not. And to them Julian spoke tenderly, for she pitied them, and knew how sore was their temptation.

“Bethink you,” she said, “of these three things. First, by whom thy prayer springeth. Is it not from God that thou betakest thyself to Him?

“And secondly, how should we use our prayer? Is it not that our will be turned with gladsome joy into the will of our Lord?

“And thirdly, what is the fruit and end of our prayer? Is it not to be made like to our Lord in all things? Is not this what thou desirest in thy heart when thou lookest up to Him? It is for this end that this lovely lesson is taught us. It is our Lord’s will that our prayer and our trust he both alike large; for if we trust not as much as we pray, we do not full worship to our Lord in our prayer.

“And if we pain and weary ourselves, it is that we know not that our praying is a gift given to us by grace of His love; for I am sure that no man asketh mercy and grace with true meaning, but if mercy and grace be first given to him.

“And if it cometh to our mind that we have prayed a long time, and yet it seemeth to us that we have not our asking, let us not therefore be heavy; for I am sure that by our Lord’s meaning, either we abide a better time, or more grace, or a better gift.

“And He willeth that we have understanding or three things that follow. The first is our noble and excellent making; for His hands have made us. The second, our precious and blessed new making. For He hath created us anew in Christ Jesus. The third, that all the things He hath made beneath us, He keepeth in being for His love to us, for He hath made them to serve us.

“Then meaneth He thus, as if He said, ‘Behold and see that I have done all this before thy prayer, and now thou art, and thou prayest to Me.’

“And it is His will that we pray; for all things that our Lord hath ordained, to do. And the joy and bliss He hath in our prayers, and the thanks and the worship that we shall have therefore, passeth the understanding of all creatures in this life below. For prayer is a righteous understanding of that fullness of joy that is for to come, with true longing and assured trust, and savoring and seeing our bliss that we be ordained to, and naturally this maketh us to long.

“True understanding and love, with sweet beholding of our Saviour, make us by His grace to trust Him fully. How marvelous is it that He stirreth us to prayer, for that which it liketh Him to do! for which prayer, that is His gift, He will reward us and give us endless weed. It is as if He shows us so great pleasance and so great liking, that it might seem He were much beholden to us for each good deed that we do; and yet it is He that doth it.

“So let us with His tender grace, in our own meek continual prayer, come unto Him now in this life, and we shall have many privy teachings of sweet spiritual sights and feelings, measured to us as our simpleness may bear it.

“For truth seeth God, and wisdom beholdeth, God; and of these two cometh the third, and that is a marvelous delight in God, which is love.

“Wherefore God rejoiceth in the creature, and the creature in God, endlessly marveling; in which marveling he seeth his God, his Lord, his Maker, so high, so great, so good, in regard of him that is made, that scarcely the creature seemeth to itself to exist. But the brightness and clearness of truth and wisdom inaketh hirer to see and know that he is made for love; in which love God endlessly keepeth him in endless continuant love, with secureness of keeping, and blissful salvation.

“For truly it is to rue as if it had been said in friendliness to me, ‘Look up to Heaven to His Father.’ And then I saw well, with the faith I felt, that it, there was nothing between the Cross and Heaven that could harm me.

“And I answered inwardly with all the might of my soul, ‘Nay, I may not fear, for Thou art my Heaven.

“Yea rather would I have been left in pain and sorrow till Domesday, than have come to Heaven otherwise than by Him. For me liked no other Heaven than Jesus, which shall be my bliss when there I come. And till then I know that all my life is grounded and rooted in love.”

“But it is thus, Mother Julian, that He loves you; and how can I believe that thus He can love me, who am not an anchoress, but one simple and unlearned, living the common life, with cares of my household and worldly business, and little time to pray alone?”

“Dear friend, I say not this to them that be wise, for they wit it well already, but I say it to you that be simple, for ease and comfort. For we be all one in love. And God hath never showed to me that He loveth me better than the least soul that is in grace. For I am sure there be many that never had teaching or light but of the common teaching of the holy Church, that love God better than I.

“Therefore if I think of this love, and look only at myself, I see that I am naught; but I know that this love is the love with which all who are Christian people are loved of God.”

“But I am so sinful, and so often do I fall, and bring myself into shame and many troubles by reason of my sin. And does God then take no count of my sin, but love me still?”

“True is it that inasmuch as we fail, in so much we fall. Our failing is dreadful, and our falling is shameful. But yet in all this the sweet eye of pity and love departeth never from us, nor doth the working of mercy cease. This is of the abundance of God’s love, that grace worketh our dreadful failing into plenteous and endless solace; and grace worketh our shameful falling into high worshipful rising—yea, grace worketh our sorrowful dying into holy blissful life.

“And that contrariousness which is now in us, our Lord God of His goodness maketh it to us full profitable; for contrariousness is the cause of all our tribulations, and all our woes. And our Lord Jesus taketh them, and sendeth them up to Heaven, and then they are made more sweet and more delectable than heart may think, or tongue can tell.

“And when we come thither we shall find them all turned into very fairness and endless worship; and the solace and bliss so overpassing the pain and shame and sorrow, that when we come up and receive that sweet reward which grace has wrought for us, we shall thank and bless our Lord, endlessly rejoicing that ever we suffered woe; for we shall know a property of blessed love in God, which we might never have known without woe going before.”

Chapter 24.

Complete in Christ.

“No more veil! God bids me enter

By the new and living Way—

Not in trembling hope I venture,

Boldly I His call obey;

There with Him, my God, I meet,

God upon the Mercy-Seat.

In the robes of spotless whiteness,

With the Blood of priceless worth,

Christ has passed into that brightness,

Christ rejected from the earth—

Christ accepted there on high,

And in Him do I draw nigh.

O the welcome I have found there,

God in all His love made known ,

O the glory that surrounds there

Those accepted in His Son!

Who can tell the depths of bliss

Spoken by the Father’s kiss?

All His joy told out unhindered,

Nought but Christ His eye can see―

Christ into His joy has entered,

And in Christ He welcomes me;

Would I know how dear to God?

Priceless, as Christ’s precious blood.

As within His Temple olden,

Was there seen no costly stone,

Nought but cedar carved and golden,

Nought but Christ, and Christ alone—

So the stones so dearly bought,

God in Heaven beholds them not

‘There,’ He saith, ‘and thus I meet thee,

On the Mercy-Seat above;

There I commune with thee, greet thee,

Tell thee all thy Father’s love;

There thy blest reward shall be,

All that Jesus is to Me.’”

AN some would come who desired to serve and please the Lord, but it seemed to them they could bring Him nothing that was worthy of Him, with all their toil and weariness. And their hearts were sad, for they said, “How can God have His good pleasure in such as we are? for we are faulty, and weak, and foolish, and our best service is little worth.”

And Julian told them, as it were in a parable, that it was thus: ―

“The Lord showed Himself to me, sitting as it were on the earth, barren and desolate, His eyes full of lovely pity, and in His face a fair looking of tender compassion and of joy, And it was shown me that by His sitting on the earth, barren and desolate, is this to mean. He made man’s soul to be His own city and His dwelling-place, which is most pleasing to Him of all His works. And man fell into the sorrow and pain of sin, so that he was not seemly to serve to that noble office.

“And therefore the Lord abode, awaiting till the barren place should be brought again by His grace into noble fairness, by the hard travail of His dear worthy Son. And therefore His pity was mingled with joy, for He saw the worshipful restoring that should be by the work of His Son.

“There was a treasure in the earth which the Lord loved. I marveled, and thought what it might be, and I was answered in my understanding, ‘It is a meat which is lovesome and pleasing unto the Lord.’ But as the Lord sat in the desolate place, I saw neither meat nor drink wherewith to serve Him. This was one marvel. Another marvel was that this solemn lord had no servant but One, and Him He sent out.

“I beheld, thinking what labor it may be that the servant should do. And then I understood that He should do the greatest labor, and the hardest travail; that is, He should be a gardener, delving and dyking, and turning the earth up and down; and seek the deepness, and water the plants He had sown, until noble plenteousness of fruit should spring, which He should bring before the Lord, and serve Him therewith to His liking.

“And He should never turn again till He had prepared this meat all ready, as He knew that it liked to the Lord; and then He should take this meat and drink, and bear it Himself right worshipfully before the Lord. And all this time did the Lord sit right on the same place, abiding the servant whom He sent out. And yet I marveled from whence the servant came.

“And I saw in the Lord, that He hath within Him endless life, and all manner of goodness; and there lacked Him naught save the treasure that was in the earth, which He loved with marvelous deepness of endless love. But yet was it not to His worship and liking till His servant had thus nobly prepared it, and Himself brought it before Him, Himself presenting it before His face. And all around the Lord was right naught but wilderness.

“And I understood not all that this example meant, and therefore I wondered whence the servant came. And it was showed me that the servant is the Son of God, who in Himself did the worshipful deed by which mankind was brought again into Heaven; so that I beheld in this picture the rueful falling of man on the one part, and on the other the worshipful satisfaction that our Lord hath made for man.

“And thus, therefore, meekly knowing our feebleness, witting that we may not stand the twinkling of an eye, but with keeping of grace, let us enter into that one high love and marvelous joy of God, knowing the nobleness that He shall bring us to, turning all our blame into endless worship.

“For in each soul that shall be saved, hath He put a godly will that never assenteth to sin, nor never shall. And our Lord willeth that we know truly in faith, that we have all this blessed will whole and safe, not in ourselves, but in our Lord Jesus Christ.

“For the nature wherewith Heaven shall be filled is His, and it behooves and needs that it should be knit and united in Him, for it is that which may never, and can never, be parted from Him. Therefore it is in Him that is this life of our souls, which life of His goodness and grace shall last in Heaven without end, Him loving, Him thanking, Him praising.

“For I saw that God never began to love mankind, for right the same that mankind shall be in endless bliss (fulfilling the joy of God in regard of His works), right so, the same mankind hath been, in the foresight of God, known and loved from without beginning in His righteous intent.

“And by the eternal counsel of God, the mid-Person, the blessed Son of God, would be the ground and Head of this fair kind, out of whom we who are saved be all come, in whom we be all enclosed, into whom we shall all go, in Him finding our full Heaven in everlasting joy, by the foreseeing purpose of all the Blessed Trinity from without beginning.

“For before that He made us, He loved us; and when we were made we loved Him. And this is a love that is of the Holy Ghost, mighty by reason of the might of the Father, and wise by reason of the wisdom of the Son.

“And thus I understood that man’s soul is made of naught—that is to say, it is made, but of naught that is made; as thus, when God should make man’s body, He took the slime of the earth and made it therewith. But to the making of man’s soul He would take right naught, but made it.

“And it is by the eternal love of God that the soul He has redeemed is kept, and never shall be lost. And right the same that we shall be without end, the same we were treasured in God, and hid, known, and loved from without beginning.

“Wherefore He willeth that we wit the noblest thing that ever be made is mankind; and the highest virtue is the blessed soul of Christ, the soul of His Beloved, preciously knit to Him in the making; which knot is so subtle and so mighty, that He and the Father are one. Furthermore, He willeth that all the souls that shall be saved in Heaven be knit in this knot, being made one with Christ.

“And thus, for the endless love that God hath to men, He maketh no separation in love between the blessed soul of Christ, and the least soul that shall be saved. It is full easy to believe and know that the blessed soul of Christ abideth on high in the glorious Godhead. And truly, where the blessed soul of Christ is, there shall be all the souls that are saved by Christ, presented before God in Him.

“We be enclosed in the Father, and we be enclosed in the Son, and we be enclosed in the Holy Ghost. And the Father is enclosed in us as His dwelling place, and the Son is enclosed in us, and the Holy Ghost is enclosed in us; all might, all wisdom, all goodness dwelling in us, maketh us to be the children of God; and Christ mercifully working in us, maketh us to be Christian in living.

“Thus it is His work, not ours; and in Him are we mightily borne up into Heaven, and presented before God. And it is in this that our Lord wills we should rejoice, and to understand and believe, whatever may be our feeling of woe or weal, that we be more verily in Heaven than on earth.

“And so must it ever be; for the City of God is prepared for Him from without beginning. Into which city, even the souls He saves, He cometh, and never shall remove from it; for God is never out of the soul, in which He shall dwell blessedly without end; yea, the place that Jesus taketh in our soul, He shall abide therein forever.

“And all the gifts that God may give to the creature, He hath given to His Son Jesus for us. God is more near to us than our own soul, for He is the ground in whom our soul standeth; yea, our soul sitteth in God in very rest, and our soul standeth in God in secure strength, and our soul is rooted in God in eternal love.

“Thus His kind goodness maketh that mercy and grace work in us, but it needeth also His kind goodness to enable us to receive the working of mercy and grace. And it is His liking to reign in our understanding blissfully, and to sit in our soul restfully, and to dwell in our soul eternally; and this bliss we might never have had and known, had not sin and wickedness risen up contrary to God; for the sin has made us to know the property in God which doeth good against evil, and turneth it to goodness and worship in all that shall be saved.

“And true it is that if we fell not, we should not know how feeble and wretched we be of ourselves, nor also should we so fully know the marvelous love of God; for marvelous in truth is that love which may not, nor will not, be broken for trespass.

“And if it seem to me, when I look at myself alone, that I might be broken off from Christ, yet I know that the Holy Church is one with Himself, even with Christ Jesus, and therefore the Church hath never been broken from Him, nor never shall be without end. Therefore it is a sure thing, and a good and gracious, that we be thus mightily fastened and united to Him.

“For the flood of mercy, that is His dear-worthy Blood and precious water, is plenteous to make us fair and clean. His sweet and gracious Hands, as those of a mother, be ready and diligent about us; and by the Blood that flowed from His blessed wounds, Both He rejoice to heal us.

“It is His office to save us, it is for His honor to do it, and it is His will that we know it; for He willeth that we love him sweetly, and trust in Him meekly and mightily. Yea, this hath He showed me in these gracious words, ‘I keep thee full securely.’”

Chapter 25.

The Mystery of Sorrow.

AND there were often those who came in sore trouble to her whom they called Mother Julian, for it was a time when many of those who read the Word of God, and believed His Gospel, were despised and defamed. And there were also times of great sorrow and sadness, when the pestilence had broken out in Norwich, and many were bereft of those they loved most, and some were left alone and desolate. And they sometimes marveled whether God indeed loved them and cared for them, for it seemed as though His mercy and pity were turned away from them.

And Julian spoke tenderly to these sorrowing people, and comforted them with the words of Christ.

“It is herewith,” she said, “that He shows to us His blessed might, His blessed wisdom, His blessed love; that He keepeth us in this time of sorrow as tenderly and sweetly to His praise and honor, and as securely as to our salvation, as He doth when we be in most solace and comfort. He turneth all to His worship, and to our joy without end. For His precious love, He suffereth us never to lose time, since all things turn to our greater good. God is kind in His being; that is to say, that goodness that is kind, it is God. He it is who is kindness. And one day shall the things created which groan and travail, be restored and brought back to His joy, by the salvation of man, through the working of His grace.

“Here may we see that we be all bound to God for nature, and we be bound to God for grace. And it needeth not that we should seek far out, hither and thither, but to enter as it were into our own soul, where our Lord dwelleth, and where He dwelleth is His Holy Church.

“But let no man or woman take this as a singular honor to himself or to herself, for it is not so; it is that the fair nature of Christ is in those He has saved, and in Him it is ours. And it is of this nature to hate sin. For nature is all good and fair in itself; but when men had fallen, grace was sent out to save nature and destroy sin, and bring again fair nature to the blessed point from whence it came, that is God, with more nobleness and worship, by the mighty working of grace.

“And this redeemed nature shall be seen before God, in all His holy people; a nature that hath been proved in the fire of tribulation, and therein found no lack, nor no default.

“Thus is nature and grace of one accord, for God is two in manner and working, and one in love. And when we by the mercy of God have been accorded” [attuned] “to this nature and to grace, we shall see verity that sin is worse viler. and painfullor then hell, without any comparison, for it is contrarious to our fair nature; for as verily as sin is unclean, as truly is sin unnatural.

“But our Lord besprinkleth us one by one in His precious Blood, and maketh our soul full soft and mild; and of this sweet fair working He shall never ease nor stint, till all His dearworthy children be brought forth and born. It was in His blessed dying upon the cross that He bare us to endless life. And from that time, and now and ever, unto doomsday, He feedeth us and foddereth us as the high sovereign kindness of motherhood will feed her children, and as the natural need of childhood asketh.

“And is not Jesus fair and lovely in the sight of our soul, as the mother to the child? and precious and lovely be the gracious children in the sight of Jesus. And naturally the child despaireth not of the mother’s love; naturally the child loveth the mother, and the mother the child.

“And so yet more is it with the soul and the Lord Jesus. Ah I there is none higher stature in this life than childhood, in feebleness, and failing of might and of wit, until the time that the Lord hath brought us up, and we enter into the Father’s bliss.

“And when we shall be taken suddenly out of pain into bliss, then pain shall be naught.

“For thus it seems to me as it were in a picture, as though I saw a body lying on the earth, heavy and fearful, and without shape and form. And suddenly out of this body sprang a full fair creature, a little child of shapely form, swift and lively, and whiter than the lily, which sharply glided up to Heaven. Thus from out of the wretchedness of mortal flesh ariseth to Heaven the soul pure, and fair, and clean. And I thought with this body remaineth no fairness of the child, nor on this child dwelleth no foulness of this body.

“It is full blissful for man to be taken from pain, more than for pain to be taken from man; for if pain be taken from us, it may come again. Therefore this is a sovereign comfort, and a blissful beholding in a longing soul; it is a promise of merciful compassion that our Lord hath for us in our woe, and an assurance of clear deliverance, for He willeth that we be comforted in the overpassing joy.

“‘Thou shalt come up above,’ He saith, ‘and thou shalt have Me to thy reward, and thou shalt be fulfilled with gladsome joy.’

“It is God’s will that we take His promises and His comforting’s as largely and as mightily as we may take them. And also He willeth that we take our sorrows of the wilderness as lightly as we may take thorn, feeling less the pain because of the love.

“And it is God’s will that I see myself as much bound to him in love as if He had done for me all that He hath done for all. For the love of God maketh in us such a unity, that when it is truly seen, no redeemed man can part himself from other. And it is His will we know that all the might of our enemies is locked in our Friend’s hands. And therefore the soul that is assured of this, she shall fear naught but Him that she loveth.

“But oftentimes is our spiritual eye so blind, and we so borne down with weight of our mortal flesh or bodily pain, or darkness of sin, that we may not see our Lord God clearly in His blissful Countenance; and scarce can we believe or trow His great love and faithfulness in keeping us. And thus we mourn and weep at times—which weeping meaneth not all in pouring out of tears by our bodily eye, but a weeping and bitterness of the soul.

“For the natural desire of our soul is so great and so unmeasurable, that if there were given us to our joy and our comfort all the nobleness that ever God made in Heaven and in earth, and we saw not the fair blissful countenance of Himself, yet should we never leave mourning nor weeping of the spirit. And if we were in all the pain that heart may think, or tongue may tell, and we might in that time see His blissful Countenance, all this pain would be to us as naught.

“And it is this blissful sight that shall be the end of all manner of pain to loving souls, and the fullness of all manner of joy and delight. For truly it hath been to me, as if in my understanding I was lifted up to Heaven, where I saw our Lord God, as a lord in His own house, which lord hath called all His dear-worthy servants to a solemn feast. And I saw Him royally reign in His house, filling it with joy and mirth, eternally to glad and solace His friends, full homely and tenderly, with marvelous melody in eternal love, the love of His own fair blissful countenance, which filleth all Heaven with joy and bliss.

“And then said He right lovingly, ‘I thank thee of thy service, and of the travail of thy youth.’

“And thus hath He made us so noble and so rich, that eternally we shall work His will and worship.

“Where I say ‘we,’ it meaneth those who are saved. And not only shall we then receive the same bliss that souls aforetimes have had in Heaven, but also we shall receive a new bliss, which plenteously shall fly out of God into us, and fill us with the fullness of joy. And this fullness of bliss shall be so deep and so high, that it shall be a wonder and a marvel to all the creatures of God, who beholding it shall be filled with a reverence and an awe beyond all that hath been seen or felt.

“For it shall be an awful joy, before which the pillars of Heaven shall tremble and quake. But this manner of trembling and of dread shall have no pain, for it belongeth to the worthy Majesty of God thus to be beholden of His creatures, who shall eternally marvel at His greatness, and in meekness worship before Him.

“For as good as God is, so great is He; and as much as it belongeth to His Godhead to be loved, so much it belongeth to His greatness to be dreaded. And this reverent dread is the fairest worship that is in Heaven before God’s Face. And as much as He, shall be known and loved overpassing that He is now, in so much He shall be dreaded overpassing that He is now.

“I speak but little of this reverent dread. But well I wot that our Lord has showed me no souls who love Him, but those who dread Him; and well I wot the soul that truly taketh the teaching of the Holy Ghost, it hateth sin more for the vileness and horribleness of it, than it doth all the pain that is in hell. Sin is hell, as to my sight.

“And the soul that will be in rest when other men’s sins come to mind, he should flee it as the pain of hell, seeking unto God for help against this darkening of the soul. For the beholding of other men’s sin, it maketh as it were a thick mist before the spiritual eyes. And we may not in this mist see the fairness of God, unless we can behold the sins of other men with contrition with them, with compassion on them, and with holy desire to God for them.

“And also, on the contrary, the enemy seeketh to make us so heavy and sorry in beholding of sin, in ourselves and other men, that we should let out of mind the blissful beholding of our Everlasting Friend. And this is the remedy, that when we know our wretchedness, we should fly to our Lord, Forever the more in need we be, the more profitable it is to us to touch Him. And it is a full lovely meekness of soul when we willingly and gladly take the scourging and the chastising that our Lord Himself will give us.”

“And is it not pleasing also to Him that we should scourge and chastise ourselves in penance for our sins?”

“As to that penance that man taketh upon himself, the Lord hath showed me naught; but He showed me that we should meekly and patiently bear and suffer that penance that God Himself giveth us, remembering His blessed sufferings, And in His pity He saith to our hearts, ‘Accuse not thyself that thy tribulation and thy woe is all thy fault, for I will not that thou be heavy nor sorrowful indiscreetly—for I tell thee, howsoever thou shalt do, thou shalt have sorrow here below.’

“The remedy is that our Lord is with us, keeping us, and leading us into fullness of joy. He that shall be our bliss when we are there, He is our keeper while we are here, our way, and our Heaven. Truly, when He showed me His Passion, He made me mightily choose Him for my Heaven and my eternal joy.

“Flee we to our Lord, and we shall be comforted; touch Him, and we shall be made clean; cleave we to Him, and we shall be secure and safe in all manner of peril. For our gracious Lord willeth we be as homely with Him as heart may think, or soul may desire.

“But be we ware that we take not so recklessly this homely nearness to Him, as to leave reverence to His Sovereign Majesty. For our Lord is homely, as it were, with us, yet putteth He honor upon us; and the blessed creatures that shall be in Heaven with Him without end, He will have to be like Himself in all things. And to be like to our Lord perfectly, it is our very salvation and our true blessedness.

“And if we wot not how we shall do all that is according to His mind, ask we of Him to learn us, and He will do so. And the meek dread we have of Him shall save us from presumption; and in the blessed showing of His love we shall have matter of comfort and joy that shall save us from despair.

“He willeth that we see our wretchedness, but He willeth not that we abide therewith, nor busy ourselves greatly about our accusing of ourselves; nor willeth He that we be too wretched in beholding ourselves, but that we look up to Him.

“For it is as if He stood all alone, abiding in His patience with the desire of love till we all come to Him. And He hath haste to have us to Him, for we are His joy and His delight, and He is the salve of our life. When I say He standeth alone, I leave the speaking of the blessed company in Heaven, and speak only of His office, and His working here on earth.

“For alone hath Christ done all the great work that belongeth to our salvation, and none but He. And right so He alone is all for us in the time that now is; He dwelleth in us, and ruleth us, and guideth us, and bringeth us to His bliss―He only, and none other.

“And thus shall He do as long as any soul is in earth that shall come to Heaven-and so far forth, that if there were none such soul in earth but one, He should be with that soul all alone, till He had brought it up to His bliss.”

“But should we betake ourselves to none other than to Him? Are there not the saints and angels besides Him?”

“I believe and understand that the holy angels minister to us,” said Julian, “as the clerks tell us; but the Lord hath not showed me as to them―for Himself is nearest, and meekest, highest and lowest, and doth all.”

Chapter 26.

Whiter Than Snow.

“He found me the lost and the wandering,

The sinful, the sad, and the lone;

He said, ‘I have bought thee, beloved,

Forever thou art Mine own.

‘O soul, I will show thee the wonder,

The worth of My priceless Blood;

Thou art whiter than snow on the mountains,

Thou art fair in the eyes of God.

‘O vessel of living water,

From the depths of the Love Divine,

The glorious life within thee

Flows from My heart to thine.’”

“THOUGH some of us,” Julian said, “but seldom feel a moaning in our heart because we are absent from Christ, this moaning as it were passeth never from Christ, till what time He have brought us out of all our woe, for love suffereth Him never to be without pity. And thus standeth He as it were moaning because of our sorrows.

“Only for us is He here. And what time I be strange to Him by sin, despair, or sloth, then I let my Lord stand alone, as far as is in me. But though it be so that we do thus oftentimes, His goodness suffereth us never to be alone, but lastingly is He with us, and tenderly He excuseth us, and ever keepeth us from blame in His sight.”

“But how is it we can be without blame in His sight? For surely I see that I am a sinner. Ought I not to see my sin, and that it is foul and evil?”

“Yea, verily; and also I would have thee know that our sin is more foul and horrible than we see it to be. We see it not at all but by the light of His mercy. And in sooth it needeth us to see it, and by the sight we should be made ashamed of ourselves, and broken down in regard of our pride and presumption.

“For it behoveth us verily to see that of our self we are right naught but sin and wretchedness. And truly it is the less part of our sin that our Lord showeth us―the more part is as it were wasted, which we see not. For He of His tenderness measureth the sight to us; for it is so foul and so horrible, that we should not endure to see it as it is. But He showeth us that which may lead us to contrition and grace, so that we may be broken from all thing that is not our Lord.

“For even as God hath made waters plenteous on earth, to our service and to our bodily ease, for tender love that He hath to us, yet liketh Him better that we be wholly and fully washed in His blessed Blood from all our sin. For there is no gift it liketh Him so well to give us. And thus of His great love He loth away all our blame, and beholdeth us as His dear children, innocent and unloathful.

“But is not this true for the saints who are high in His favor? and I am naught but a sinner, and without deservings?

“It is our blessed Saviour who doth the perfect work of our salvation, and all alike for all whom He saves. For he that is highest and nearest with God, he may see himself sinful and needy with me.

And I that am the least and the lowest of those that shall be saved, I may be comforted with him that is highest; for the Lord in His love hath made us all, who are to be saved, to be one. For thus there is in truth but One Man, and the blessed comfort the Lord hath showed me is large enough for us all.”

“But can we not sin again when once the Lord has washed us? How then can we feel ourselves secure?”

“Yea, verily, and truly the Lord hath learned me to be fearful for nu secureness of myself. For I wot not how I shall fall, nor I know not the measure nor the greatness of my sin. I would fain have wist it, but thereto the Lord gave me no answer. But He showed me only, full sweetly and full mightily, the endlessness and the unchangeableness of His love, and also His gracious keeping, that the love of Him and of our souls shall never be separated, world without end.

“Truly it is a lovely lesson, and a sweet gracious teaching of Himself in comforting of our soul. And it is in the soul that He hath made for Himself a dwelling-place; and we may say that He showeth Himself to us as being with us here on this earth, as it were a pilgrim through this wilderness. For He is here with us, leading us and guarding us, and shall be, till He hath brought us all into His eternal joy.

“And in the soul is His resting-place and His worshipful city, out of which He shall never arise, nor remove without end. Marvelous and solemn is the place where the Lord dwelleth.

“And therefore He willeth that we readily attend to His gracious touching in this nearness of His Presence, more rejoicing in His perfect love, than sorrowing in our often fallings. For it is the most worship to Him of anything that we may do, that we live gladly and merrily in His love, turning our hearts from the pain that we feel, unto the bliss that we trust.

“And thus, by the meekness that we get in the sight of our sin, faithfully knowing His everlasting love, Him thanking, and Him praising, we please Him.”

“‘I love thee,’ He saith, and thou lowest Me, and our love shall never be separated in twain.’ And by the great desire that I saw in our Blessed Lord, that we should live in this manner, that is to say, in longing and rejoicing, as all this lesson of love showeth, thereby I understand that all that is contrarious Co this, is not of Him, but of the enemy. And He willeth that we know it by the sweet gracious light of His kind love.

“If any man living be on earth which is continually kept from falling, I know it not, for it was not showed me. But this was showed me, that in falling and in rising, we are ever preciously kept in one love. For in beholding God, we fall not; and in beholding of our self, we stand not. And our good Lord willeth ever that we hold much more to the beholding of Him, not having the knowledge of that which we are in ourselves, until the time that we be brought up above, where we shall have our Lord Jesus to our reward, and be filled fully with joy and bliss withouten end.

“And our faith is the light that is the dawning of our endless day, in which light our good Lord the Holy Ghost leadeth us in this passing life. This light is measured to us need fully, to guide us in the night that is passing away, so that we may walk wisely and mightily.

“And at the end of sorrow, suddenly our eye shall be opened, and in clearness of sight our life shall be full of light; which light is God, in Christ Jesus our Saviour. Thus is faith our light in the night, which light is God in endless day; and this light is love. Yea, all shall be love.

“To know this love, let us all unite to pray, thanking, trusting, and rejoicing. For He beholdeth His heavenly treasure and solace, looking down upon us from the heavenly joy, and drawing our hearts from sorrow and darkness, which here are all around us.

“He loves us with love which was never slacked, nor never shall be; and in this love our life is everlasting. As those whom He made, we had a beginning; but the love wherein He made us, was in Him from without beginning. In which love we have our beginning, and we shall see it in God withouten end.”

Thus were the words fulfilled which the Lord had spoken to the heart of Julian, “Hold fast the lesson of My love, and thou shalt yet learn more and more. But never to all eternity shalt thou learn aught beside.”

Chapter 27.

“Come Up Higher.”

“MIDST the darkness, storm, and sorrow

One bright gleam I see—

Well I know the blessed morrow

Christ will come for me.

Midst the light and love and glory

Of the Father’s Home,

Christ for me is watching, waiting,

Waiting till I come.

Long the blessed Guide has led me

By the desert road;

Now I see the golden towers,

City of my God.

There amidst the love and glory

He is waiting yet;

On His hands a name is graven

He can ne’er forget.

There amidst the songs of Heaven

Sweeter to His ear,

Is the footfall through the desert

Ever drawing near.

There made ready are the mansions,

Radiant, still, and fair;

But the Bride the Father gave Him

Still is wanting there.

Who is this who comes to meet me

On the desert way,

As the morning star foretelling

God’s unclouded day?

He it is who came to win me

On the cross of shame;

In His glory well I know Him

Evermore the same.

O the blessed joy of meeting,

All the desert past!

O the wondrous words of greeting

He shall speak at last!

He and I together entering

Those fair courts above―

He and I together sharing

All the Father’s love.

Where no shade nor stain can enter,

Nor the gold be dim,

In that holiness unsullied

I shall walk with Him.

He and I in that bright glory

One deep joy shall share;

Mine, to be forever with Him―

His, that I am there.”

So the years passed on in the old churchyard, where there came no change to Julian except that the outward man decayed, and the inner man was renewed day by day. And though her earthly dwelling was within narrow bounds, the door into the large and blessed country stood open, and she saw more that was beautiful and marvelous than those who traveled far and wide over the land and sea.

It must have been that she was left as a fountain of living water, in mercy to many souls who came to her little cell. For it was not till she was a hundred years old that the Lord called her into the heavenly joy.

We ascertain this from the fact that she was thirty years old in the year 1373. And in an ancient vellum manuscript, which was in possession of the author of “Antiquities of Stanford,” the “Revelations of Mother Julian” are given at length, beginning thus, “that they were showed by God to a devout woman, whose name is Julian, a recluse at Norwich, and who yet is on life, this year of our Lord 1442.”

During the last years of Julian’s life, she had two servants to attend upon her; and we find, from her writings, that friends were in the habit of visiting her in her illness. In these writings there are not wanting many traces of the superstitions that beclouded God’s brightest witnesses in those evil days.

But we cannot but wonder, both at that which we find in her writings, and at that which we fail to find. When in one passage she says she desired to know somewhat of hell and purgatory, she adds, “It was not my meaning to take proof of anything that belongeth to our faith, for I believed verily that hell and purgatory is for the same end that Holy Church teacheth for. But for aught that I could desire, I could see of this right naught, but that I saw the devil is reproved of God and endlessly damned.

“In which I understand the same of all creatures that be of the devil’s condition in this life, notwithstanding that they be of mankind, whether they have been christened or not.”

But of purgatory “naught” was shown her.

Nor do we find any allusion to the worship of saints or angels; but in the remarkable passage relating to the Virgin Mary, she says the love of the Lord to her is a pattern of His love to all His people. Much that is in involved and ill-constructed language has been omitted in these extracts; but the same truth runs through all, so frequently repeated, that for that reason much could be left out without breaking the connection of the whole.

And again, as in the case of Richard Rolle, do we recognize unmistakably the language, familiar to those who have read their writings, of the “Friends of God,” the apostles of the Waldensian “Brethren.”

How had this teaching reached the secluded churchyard of S. Julian’s at Norwich? We do not know. We know that the Lord teaches His own, and we know also that He most frequently teaches them by means of one another. It is not therefore an unlikely supposition that there were those amongst the “Friends of God” who gladly came to hold converse with one who loved Him so truly.

We may remember the remark of the Inquisitor, that the “seat of heresy” was chiefly in the class of tradesmen and mechanics; so that he considered them to be exclusively, or almost exclusively, found amongst the working classes; and he adds, “Their teachers were working men, shoemakers or weavers.”

And it is remarkable that this stream of light from the Norwich churchyard, coincides with the time when the Flemish weavers, brought over by Queen Philippa, had settled down there and gained for themselves a social standing amongst the citizens.

Just as at Oxford, the light arose and spread amongst teachers and scholars, just at the time, and after the time, of the great influx of masons and builders. We have also to bear in mind, that both before the time when Julian took up her abode in the anchorage, and during her long life afterward, much building was carried on at Norwich, as before mentioned, and communities of builders must have been succeeding one another during the whole of the fourteenth century. And probably towards the end of the century the number of “Brethren” amongst them increased.

We find in a manuscript preserved at Strasburg, dating from the year 1404, that in consequence of the terrible persecutions of the Waldensian Brethren in Holland and Germany, during the last half of the fourteenth century, many of them “fled to a land the other side of the sea,” where in consequence “the number of saints increased greatly.”

We know that till the end of the reign of Richard II., the Lollards not only had a safe refuge in England, but multiplied and grew; and the well-known Peter Payne, the friend of Wiclif, and head of one of the Oxford schools, was in close intercourse with the German “Friends of God.” It is more than probable that Norwich became a haven of rest to many of them, builders and weavers alike.

And now, when we go back to the words of this servant of the Lord, imprisoned in her little cell, yet making it as a fountain of gardens and well of living water, we hear how strangely in tune are those words, with the letters of Rutherford, imprisoned at Aberdeen; with the hymns and sermons of Gerhardt Tersteegen; and, thank God, with words written and spoken amongst us in these our days. With a few of these words of the nineteenth century, preached in the busy heart of London, let us bring our history to an end. Many more such words have been sounding, and are still sounding, in quiet places afar from the noise and controversy of the world and of the Church. Therefore let us listen for a few moments longer to the “sweet note that soundeth to us from the feast of Heaven.”

Chapter 28.

Further Down the Stream.

“Glorious River of God’s pleasures,

Well of God’s eternal bliss,

Thirsting now no more forever,

Tread we the waste wilderness.

O for words divine to tell it,

How along that River’s brink,

Come the weak, the worn, the weary,

There the tides of joy to drink!

‘Drink abundantly, beloved.’

Speaks the Voice so sweet and still;

‘Of the life and love and sweetness

Freely come and drink your fill.’

Every longing stilled forever,

As the Face of God we see.

Whom besides have we in Heaven,

Or desire on earth but Thee?”

CHRIST’S yesterday was the accomplishment of redemption. His tomorrow is the having His Church with Himself in glory. But He is a living Christ for today.

“Where has there ever been found a single blessing, save in the hand of Christ? Could you wish for any save what He gives? Water was in the rock, but until smitten it did not give forth water: so it was with Christ. And now He is revealed to us in Heaven, as the eternal Son of God, who was smitten for us; and we can turn to Him and say, ‘There is our spring of living water; He is ours. We have eternal life in Him, as a well of water springing up within us.’

“All the way through the wilderness the water flowed, to slake their’ thirst―to refresh them―all the way, and it spoke to them of Christ. You and I get so weary in our experience of the wilderness, but Christ’s heart is never wearied; it is as freshly set on the bride, as when God chose us in Him before the foundation of the world.

“Whatever the mind is most fixed upon, and is ever turning to, gives its impress to the mind; if my feelings and thoughts are fixed on Christ, I get the impress of Christ. If I am ever turning to Him in His inexhaustible love, I shall get the impress of it; and if my soul then rises to Christ in that freshness of love which can say, ‘Come, Lord Jesus,’ there is His answer in all freshness, ‘Surely I come quickly.’

“He does not forget us toiling through the wilderness and the sands of the desert; He is with us all the way, and all freshness is in Him.

“If the heart turns to the heart of Christ, the heart of the Son of God, I find that heart immeasurably fuller than mine of love―there, there is always freshness of love. I may be a way worn pilgrim, there I shall find freshness―a spring of cold water, when I am fainting in the wilderness.

“Oh, that love in the heart of Christ, that knows no weariness, no dragging steps, no hanging down of the hands!

“What! this One, this smitten Rock, through which the river of life flows—this One, who knows all the secrets of the Father’s heart I do I know that He loves me? Did He die for me? I had my sins, and nothing but my sins, when He looked upon me. Could His Blood take out all their crimson dye? and is God satisfied? Will God find fault with that work as inadequate?

“It is God who looked upon me, the chief of sinners, to make me an example of the cleansing power of that Blood.

“Whenever a saint gets into close connection with Christ Himself, and sees the living streams flow down, he will have no thought of self. When I think of myself in the glory, and Christ saying, ‘That is a man whom I washed from his sins in My own blood,’ I shall not want any glory for myself but all for Him.

“Being saved is nothing to the brightness of the glory shining out of the Saviour Christ. He may have every glory, but above all is this name of Saviour; the name of the counsel of love between Him and God. We shall go into Heaven with faces radiant with glory—able to look right up because of the Cross.

“Now, the white earth-fog may rise, and seem to wrap us round, but it cannot cloud Him up there above it all. It cannot wrap Him round in the Father’s glory; and my life is hid with Christ in God.

“God knows nothing so beautiful as Christ. He would have us ever looking on Him, in whose all-perfect beauty the heart of God finds all delight. God has unveiled that Face, and let all its light shine down into our hearts; therefore we have to walk as light-bearers. That Christ with unveiled Face is a Christ whose light shines down, in order to shine out through His people.

“What sweetness there is in the thought of being used by the Lord down here to serve His purpose in giving out light; for He will have a light on the earth while He is away.

“And when He put the light in you, did He not know what the earthen vessel was? I may be a very bad reflector, but Christ says, ‘Never mind, go on, I give you the power. I know that you are nothing in yourself, and that you are in the place where it is night―but go on giving out light, soon you will be in God’s day.’

“The morning without clouds is dawning. Christ is the bright and morning star. For eighteen hundred years He has been dealing with a people down here―the night may be very dark, but the darkness does not reach up to the bright and morning star. No cloud can cover Him. Soon He will shine out.

“Does He hear you cry,’ Come, Lord Jesus’? You need not look round and wait for another, you may say it to Him. I know that failure and ruin have been the history of the Church, but there is the fact that I am part of a company which God has given to His Son, and because of that (not because of anything in me) I can be doing nothing but saying the livelong night, ‘Come, Lord Jesus, come!’

“God found One who was to be the perfect measure of what sin was in His Presence. That One takes the cup of wrath from God’s hand, that Son of His love had to be treated as if the whole mass of sin was His, and the whole weight of wrath for that sin came upon Him. He had to bear it all there, alone. He may be a man of sorrows all through His life, but He has God with Him in it. Never till the Cross do we hear the cry, ‘My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?’ Not one ray of light came from Him, whilst the Son of His love was there, suffering, the Just for the unjust.

“Man tries to keep sin far away, out of God’s Presence; but Christ carried it right into His Presence. If I understand what Christ was for me on the Cross, there is no sin for me before God.”

“There must be a more simple faith in Christ as a living Person for today, not believing only in His love yesterday, tomorrow, and forever; but we need to know it as the love of the living Christ today, who is sitting at this very moment at the right hand of God in Heaven, bearing all His people on His heart, making all our cares through the wilderness His.

“How is it that people can leave their souls and their eternity with Christ, but not the things of time? Is there not light enough in Heaven to cast down brightness on the little bit of wilderness I am passing over, and to light up all that remains of the threescore years and ten down here?

“Yes, the light does shine down; the eternal life I have is a present thing; glory is future, but the life of Christ in me is light now. Eternal life flows through our souls, and as we go through the wilderness, the Holy Ghost ministers to us all that God and Christ are now.

“Oh, what a moment is it, when I know the yearning of Christ’s love, as He looks on me, saying, ‘You are espoused to Me;’ Christ wanting to have me all to Himself. A thousand affections flow from Christ’s heart to mine—does He see the pulse of thought through me beating for Him?

“The Lord knows what the hearts of His people want here—it is Himself, His own blessed Person. All their hearts’ affections are bound up in His Person; that it is which their hearts are set upon. Do you know anything of such a thing as a body, a people, affianced to Christ?

“If the marriage of the bride, the Lamb’s wife, is to be, and you and I are a part of that affianced body, do we not see that the name of bride supposes all affections on the part of Christ? He looks and sees poor feeble creatures, but they are a part of that body, and He has washed them in His Blood; He has given them the Spirit, and made them one with Himself; He will have a bride fit for God’s own dwelling-place. God forms out of poor prodigals a bride for His Son, making them the members, the flesh, and bones of His Son―the bride may have all sorts of precious jewels, but she herself is for the Lord.

“What! I, a poor thing, a leaf in the wilderness carried hither and thither, can I say, ‘Come, Lord Jesus?’

“And it is not the bride only, but the Spirit, knowing all the affections in the heart of Christ, who says, ‘Come.’

“How sweet to have Christ wanting you to say, ‘Come.’ Have you known the sweetness when in solitude, of that thought in your heart, hardly breathed in words, ‘Come, Lord Jesus, come?’

“I am as sure of being His as Rebekah was of being Isaac’s, and far surer; and so are all believers who can say ‘Come.’ We are in the wilderness now; and we count by weeks and days, and the time seems long; but One up there looks upon you and says to you, ‘Surely, I come quickly.’

“And, oh, how sweet this experience of Christ’s love in this cold world! Looking up to Him, the heart is always warmed. When the Lord Jesus looks in the face of a believer, He says, I do and must love thee, but I love thee for My Father’s sake. I loved thee before the foundation of the world, because He chose thee in Me, and I must love thee to the end for His sake.’

“The Church will be where the sense of being loved by the Father, even as the Son is loved, will surpass all understanding. The Father’s house, the Father’s bosom, was to be the resting-place of the Church; nothing could satisfy that Son, but her being there where He had rested from all eternity. But we have this place of rest now—we shall never be more sons of God than we are now; else where were the force of that word, ‘Now are we the sons of God’?

“A fixed time is coming, we cannot say how soon, when the Father will say to the Son, ‘Rise up, and bring the bride up hither.’ The Lord Jesus, amid all the glory of God, has a heart large enough to think of coming to meet even me. ‘There is a poor thing, stumbling through his duties, often going wrong. I shall go and fetch him, and make him partaker of all I have.’

“It is His love, not mine. And when we are there, every saint will show forth to the eye of God, the Lord Jesus, because they will all reflect His glory.

“If an angel from heaven were to come to my bedside, and tell me that Christ loved me as a member of His own body, as Himself, should I be more certain of that love than I am? It is no delusion, but a fact, that Christ loves me, and will love me right on to the end; a thought that pressed on me thirty-five years ago―the thought of reality.

“Let it be a reality; do not let me follow a meteor. Is it, I asked, a real fact that God’s Christ is mine, and all God’s delight is in Him, and that, as He loves His Son, so, eternally, does He love me? Can you say individually, that that love, flowing from God, is filling your soul to all fullness, and is as a river flowing forth from you?”

Chapter 29.

Green Pastures of Today,

“It ends―the vigil of high festival,

The solemn night of song;

For lo! the crimson day has lit the hills,

The day desired so long.

From peak to peak there burns the jasper glow,

The morning star grows dim―

How passing strange the joy that now we know,

So soon to look on Him.

Oh, deeper than our longing and our love,

More wondrous than our bliss,

His love that waited while the ages rolled

To welcome us as His.

And now the watching and the waiting o’er,

The sin and sorrow past,

Behold, within the palaces of gold,

The harps are strung at last!

‘The Bridegroom from His chamber goeth forth

Resplendent as the sun―

Oh, Bride, arise, and put thy jewels on,

The desert journey done.’

Thus do the morning stars together sing;

Our shout of joy replies―

For lo! He cometh as the solemn dawn

Awakes the silent skies

The joy of God’s fair city peals afar,

Through portals open wide;

All Heaven awaits the shining marriage train,

The Bridegroom and the Bride.”

AND to another of the “Friends of God” of our own days, we will listen for a few moments more, knowing that the “song of Heaven” will never cease here below, till it sounds forth in chorus from all the saints of God, gathered in the Father’s house at last.

“Though in ourselves most imperfect and failing, the definition given by the Spirit of God of a Christian, is that he is a transcript of Christ. Your natural thought may be, If that be true, I do not know what to think of myself; I do not see this transcript in myself.’

“No, and you ought not to see it. Moses did not see his own face shine. Moses saw God’s Face shine, and others saw Moses’ face shine.

“The glory of the Lord as seen in the face of Moses was terrible to the people. They could not bear that glory. But we see it now with ‘open’ unveiled face in Christ, and we are not the least afraid. We find rest, comfort, and joy in beholding it. Instead of fearing, we rejoice.

“It is Christ alive in the glory that I see; not Christ down here (sweet as that was), but Christ at the right hand of God. And I have no fear. Though that glory is in the heavens, I can steadfastly behold it; because that glory of God shines forth from the face of a Man who has put away my sins, and who is there in proof of it. I cannot see Christ in glory without knowing that I am saved.

“How comes He there? He is a Man who has been down here mixing with publicans and sinners, the friend of such, choosing such as His companions. He is a Man who has borne the wrath of God on account of my sins, who has borne my sins in His own body on the tree, and it is in His Face I see the glory of God.

“I see Him there consequent upon the putting away of my sin, because He has accomplished my redemption. I could not see Christ in the glory, if there were one spot or stain of sin not put away. The more I see of His glory, the more I see the perfectness of the work He wrought, and of the righteousness in which I am accepted.

“So much has God been glorified about my sins (that is in respect of the work Christ has done on account of my sins), that this is the title of the Man Christ Jesus, to be there at the right hand of God.

“Where are my sins now? Where are they to be found in heaven or on earth? Once they were found on the head of that blessed One—but they are gone, never more to be found.

“As a practical consequence of beholding Him, I am changed into His likeness. ‘We all, with open face beholding, as in a glass, the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image, from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.’

“I delight in Christ, I feast upon Christ, I love Christ. It is Christ Himself I love. I need no riches―I have unsearchable riches in Him; I need no pleasures of the world―I have pleasures at God’s right hand for evermore.”

“We should know that we are the Lord’s garden―we should know that here in the wilderness we are planted as God’s trees. It is not merely that we are saved. God has set rivers of water to flow through the barren land―not thence, but there; so that in this dry land we may bear witness to the perfectness of Christ’s work―the infiniteness of the efficacy of His death.

“What a marvelous miracle of grace is the Church of God—in the land where no water is, the water flowing through the midst of it, watering the trees of His planting, the work of His hands.

“We do not want the ‘vision of the Almighty,’ the ‘opened eyes,’ to discover inconsistencies in the walk of our brethren; but we need to have our eyes opened to see, as God sees, this beauty and glory of the Church.”

“ ‘While the son was yet a great way off the father saw him, and had compassion on him, and ran to meet him, and fell on his neck and kissed him.’ Why did he do this? Was it for anything in the son? No, it was because of the love that was in his own heart. He fell on his son’s neck because he loved to be there.

“It is the love of God, not any loveliness in the sinner, that accounts for the extravagant liberality of his reception through Christ.

“If the Father kisses me, the very consciousness that He is doing it, while I am yet in the rags of the far country, proves what a forgiveness it is. There is not another in the whole world who would not have thought about my rags, before he fell on my neck and kissed me.

“God clothes us with Christ, and brings us into His house with nothing less than all the honor He can put upon us, as He would have us to be there. The Father’s mind was, that a son of His was worth it all, and that it was worthy of Him to give it. I am loved as He loves His Son Jesus.

“My heart believes it, and I am reconciled to God. The peace has been ‘made through the Blood of His Cross,’ and the only part I had in that which saved me was my sins.

“And I am not come half-way to God. ‘Thou in Thy mercy hast led forth the people which Thou hast redeemed; Thou hast guided them in Thy strength to Thy holy habitation. ‘I bare you on eagles’ wings, and brought you unto Myself.’ The poor thief goes straight from the Cross to Paradise, made in one moment a fit companion for Jesus throughout eternity.”

“Christ loved the Church, and gave Himself for it (Eph. 5:25). He not only did something for it; He gave Himself. And mark how His loving it, and giving Himself for it, goes first. It is not that He cleansed it first, and then loved it because it was cleansed and fit to be loved. No. He gives Himself for it because He loved it; and now, He says, it must be cleansed and made fit for Me.

“And the same love that fits it, watches over it, as it passes through, the world in the dark days and toilsome ways. There cannot be a want in Christ’s Church, without there being an answer to it in Christ’s heart. There is no forgetfulness in grace. It takes up to the third heaven, but goes down to the smallest things. Ah, surely ‘goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’”

“Christ has been in the lowest place of misery and death, and is taken up to the highest place in glory—the throne of God—and all between is filled up by Christ. He is not distant from us; but we who know Him have the consciousness of His being in and around us.

“It is said of the City, ‘the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.’ The Lamb is nearer to my heart than any. He has known me better than any, better than I know myself.

“And this Christ who dwells now in our hearts by faith, is the One we shall meet there. I shall find One in Heaven nearer and dearer to my heart than any one I know on earth. Nothing is so near to us as the Christ that is in us, and nothing is so near to God as Christ. With all the sensibilities of the heart to good or evil (and this makes the heart of man such a wonderful thing), Christ can meet all.”

“The Father brings many sons unto glory, and brings them back perfect with the work of Christ—not an affection of God’s delight in Him is wanting. Therefore all that Christ has, we have. We are to be conformed to the image of His Son. He is the firstborn among many brethren.

“This is our present place. ‘Lord, remember me when Thou comest in Thy kingdom.’ ‘But,’ says the Lord, you need not wait till then; today shalt thou be with Me in Paradise.’

“Oh, how the things of the world, are dimmed by this, that we are loved as Christ is loved! There is not one possible blessing into which Christ has entered as Man, that we are not brought into. Christ never gives away; He brings us into enjoyment with himself — ‘not as the world giveth, give 1 unto you.’ This is perfect love.

“Have you the thought of God’s heart about your blessing? Is the thought you have, that you are loved as Christ is loved? This is the very thing that makes us see our own utter nothingness.

“Have you given up all the claims of the first Adam entirely, and found your place in the second Adam, ‘accepted in the Beloved?’ This is not forgiveness merely.

“What unutterable love it is! How thoroughly we see that it is Divine! The moment God shows us ‘the exceeding riches of His grace,’ in His kindness towards us through Christ Jesus, we cannot wonder at anything. When the angels see the thief who was on the cross, the woman that was a sinner, one of us, in the same glory with Christ, and like Him, they will know the exceeding riches of His grace.

“The most wonderful thing of all is the Cross: after this no glory is too great. That which we have to desire, is hearts that own the unspeakable fullness of the work of Christ; hearts that desire in everything down here to glorify Him.

“May we see this blessing in spirit, the blessing of Melchisedec, of Christ the Lord, the King. How imperfectly all the joy of this blessing can be declared, our own enjoyment of it must surely tell.

“May the Spirit of our God teach a more skillful tune to those who learn the lesson of His love; and after all, our imperfect notes here are but poor witnesses to that new song which we shall sing in eternal notes of praise. And may the sweetness of the instrument itself strike some heart as yet untuned. To hear or know how sweet is the melody of Heaven, of Jesus’ praise, we have yet to learn in all its blessed gladness, when we are in the glory of the blessing which rests not only on the head of Jesus, but is in His heart for the redeemed of God.”

Chapter 30.

A Monk of S. Honorat.

THE last words with which we take our leave of the saints of olden days, and the saints of the nineteenth century, will be the more befitting, as they are the words of one to whom “the heavenly door was opened,” as he read for the first time the Word of God under the pines of S. Honorat, where he was a Trappist monk some few years since; and who now preaches the glad tidings of “that which he has seen and heard,” as a Protestant pastor in the Hautes Alpes. One who is familiar with the brightest side of monastic experience, can best judge of that which is lacking in the life he loved; and he serves therefore as a witness to us that the converse with God, and the joy in Christ which we have traced in those of olden days, was not the fruit of convent life, but the fruit of the Spirit of God. “If monastic life,” he writes, “appears to us to be a deviation from the Gospel, rather than a practical development of it, we shall find that the root of monasticism deviates from the Gospel yet more widely; for that root is the dogma of salvation by works. The object of a monk in our days, as in former ages, is not to attain to some vague ideal, or to reach a state of perfection, short of which he might still be saved; but his exclusive object is to increase the chances of his salvation; to render himself as much as possible assured of having attained it. However fully we may admit the beauty, the grandeur, and, to certain minds, the attractiveness of much that is to be found in monastic life, is there not a reason why after all it is simply a failure? No solid building can be raised on a foundation that is undermined. Whatever respect we may accord to it, whatever homage we may be ready to render it, the truth remains, that monasticism is not, and never was, pure Christianity. The true, the only Christianity, the Christianity that saves, is found neither in the law, nor in works; it does not consist in the practice of the sublimest virtues, nor even in the entire abnegation of self, and surrender of all things.

“The true, the only Christianity is Christ; His Divine Person beheld and adored by the living faith of the heart. And outside of Christ, outside of that faith which lays hold of Him alone, which trusts in Him only, there is but mirage, illusion, and disappointment.

“En Te trouvant, j’ai trouve toute chose,

Et ce bonheur m’est venu par la foi.

C’est sur Ton rein qu’en pair je me repose;

Je suis à Toi; je suis à Toi.”