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And this for love of the Outcast Divine, because of the way He is treated. Look around you and oh! the pity of it! millions of hearts taken up with earth's clayey and narrow love, scarce one with His Beautiful and Infinite Love. St. John is right. His cry is as true to-day as it was in that far off and dead day, when first he mournfully said: "He came unto His own and His own received Him not." "No room for Him" in the inns of our hearts to-day, as in the hearts dead now two thousand years. Listen to the talk of men, read their books and papers, observe their actions―and in all you will scarcely find a mention of Him, much less a sigh or a tear for Him, and so many of His very own not bothering that it is so, only just a little more loving, more attentive, but no so much more than those other blinded, passionate hearts.
We do good for souls, but is it not only a fraction of the good we could and should do? We fulfill our duties, carry out our assignments; but do these duties and assignments sanctify us? They are performed with care and precision―does the supernatural accompany them? We meet people of the world; we are in close contact with pupils and patients; our Sisters are ever with us,―yet, perhaps we inspire in them no eagerness for good. Our zeal gives out so little heat that those who meet us are not fired up to do great things for God. Our manners may savor a trifle of the world, robbing us of the refinement of cloistral beauty, hence our failure to attract souls to higher living. Eagerness to shine, hunger for applause, selfish aim and jealous intrigue may sap the well-springs of our life, Such faults mar the work entrusted to our keeping. Souls who look to us for strength and courage are harmed by these defects. (Turn Page ☛☛)
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