6. Go tame the wild torrent, or stem with a straw

The proud surges that sweep o'er the strand that confines them;

But presume not again to give freemen a law,

Nor think with the chains they have broken to bind them.

7. To hearts that the spirit of liberty flushes,

Resistance is idle,-and numbers a dream ;

They burst from control, as the mountain-stream rushes

From its fetters of ice, in the warmth of the beam.

LXI-OUR SAVIOUR.

LACORDAIRE.

1. I am wrong, gentlemen; there is a Man whose tomb is guarded by love, there is a Man whose sepul cher is not only glorious, as a prophet declared, but whose sepulcher is loved. There is a Man whose ashes, after eighteen centuries, have not grown cold; who daily lives again in the thoughts of an innumerable multitude of men; who is visited in His cradle by shepherds and by kings, who vie with each other in bringing to Him gold and frankincense and myrrh. There is a Man whose steps are unweariedly retrodden by a large portion of mankind, and who, although no longer present, is followed by that throng in all the scenes of His bygone pilgrimage, upon the knees of His mother,

by the borders of the lakes, to the tops of the mountains, in the by-ways of the valleys, under the shade of the olive-trees, in the still solitude of the deserts. There is a Man, dead and buried, whose sleep and whose awaking have ever eager watchers, whose every word still vibrates and produces more than love, produces virtues fructifying in love. There is a Man, who eighteen centuries ago was nailed to the gibbet, and whom millions of adorers daily detach from this throne of His suffering, and kneeling before Him, prostrating themselves as low as they can without shame, there, upon the earth, they kiss His bleeding feet with unspeakable ardor. There is a Man who was scourged, killed, crucified, whom an ineffable passion raises from death and infamy, and exalts to the glory of love unfailing which finds in Him peace, honor, joy, and even ecstacy. There is a Man pursued in His sufferings and in His tomb by undying hatred, and who, demanding apostles and martyrs from all posterity, finds apostles and martyrs in all generations. There is a Man, in fine, and one only, who has founded His love upon earth, and that Man is Thyself, O Jesus! who hast been pleased to baptize me, to anoint me, to consecrate me in thy love, and whose name alone now opens my very heart, and draws from it those accents which overpower me and raise me above myself.

2. But among great men who are loved? Among warriors? Is it Alexander? Cear? Charlemagne ?

Among sages? Aristotle? or Plato? Who is loved among great men? Who? Name me even one; name me a single man who has died and left love upon his tomb. Mahomet is venerated by Mussulmen; he is not loved. No feeling of love has ever touched the heart of a Mussulman repeating his maxim: "God is God, and Mahomet is his prophet." One man alone has gathered from all ages a love which never fails; Jesus Christ is the sovereign lord of hearts as He is of minds, and by a grace confirmatory of that which belongs only to Him, He has given to His saints also the privilege of producing in men a pious and faithful remembrance.

3. Yet even this is not all; the kingdom of souls is not yet established. Jesus Christ, being God, should not be satisfied with steadfast faith and inmortal love, He must exact adoration. Adoration is the annihilation of one's self before a superior being, and this sentiment gentlemen, is not a stranger to us. It lies, like all others, in the very depth of our nature, and plays a more important part there than you are perhaps aware of. Let us not disguise this truth from ourselves; all of us, more or less, desire to be adored. It is this innate thirst for adoration which has produced every tyranny.

4. You sometimes wonder that a prince should weave together numberless intrigues in order to emancipate himself from human and divine laws; that he

should add violence to cunning, shed streams of blood and march onward to the execration of mankind; you ask yourselves why he does this. Ah! gentlemen, for the very natural object of being adored, of seeing every thought subject to his own, every will in conformity to his will, every right, every duty, emanating from him, and even the bodies of men bent like slaves before his mortal body. Such is the depth of our heart, as was Satan's. But by a counterpoise due to that frightful malady of pride, we can only desire adoration for ourselves by abhorring the adoration of others. Thence springs the execration that follows despotism. Mankind, abased by a power despising all law, concentrates its secret indignation within itself, awaits the inevitable day of the despot's weakness, and, when that day comes, it turns upon and tramples under foot the vile creature who had disdained it even to demanding incense from it.

5. A great orator once said to a celebrated tribune: "There is but one step from the Capital to the Tarpeian rock." I shall say with as much truth, although in less grand expression: There is but one step from the altar to the common sewer. Whosoever has been adored will sooner or later be hurled by the hand of the people from the lofty summit of divine majesty usurped, to the execration of eternal opprobrium. Suck do we find history-that power charged with the pro

mulgation of the judgments of God upon the pride of

man.

6. In spite of history, however, Jesus Christ is adored. A Man, mortal and dead, He has obtained adoration which still endures, and of which the world offers no other example. What emperor has held his temples and his statues? What has become of all that population of gods created by adulation? Their dust even no longer exists, and the surviving remembrance of them serves but to excite our wonder at the extravagance of men and the justice of God. Jesus Christ alone remains standing upon His altars, not in a corner of the world, but over the whole earth, and among nations celebrated by the cultivation of the mind. The greatest monuments of art shelter His sacred images, the most magnificent ceremonies assemble the people under the influence of His name; poetry, music, painting, sculpture, exhaust their resources to proclaim His glory and to offer Him incense worthy of the adoration which ages have consecrated to Him. And yet, upon what throne do they adore Him? Upon a Cross! Upon a Cross? They adore Him under the mean appearance of bread and wine! Here, thought becomes altogether confounded. It would seem that this man has taken delight in abusing His strange power, and in insulting mankind by prostrating them in wonder before the most vain shadows. Having by His crucifixion descended lower than death, He made even igno