dew of heaven, and all because they made one fatal life-mistake;--they
thought, that to pray always meant to be always saying prayers.

Who could be more devout than Saint Simeon Stylites? who spent all his
life upon the top of a tall pillar, absorbed in contemplation, ecstasy,
remorse and prayer. Let the poet speak for him.

"Bethink thee, Lord? while Thou and all the saints
Enjoy themselves in heaven, and men on earth
House in the shade of comfortable roofs,
Sit with their wives by fires, eat wholesome food
And wear warm clothes, and even beasts have stalls,
I, 'twixt the spring and downfal of the light
Bow down one thousand and two hundred times
To Christ, the Virgin Mother and the Saints:
Or in the night, after a little sleep,
I wake, the chill stars sparkle; I am wet
With drenching dews, or stiff with crackling frost,
I wear an undressed goatskin on my neck,
And in my weak, lean arms I lift the Cross,
And strive and wrestle with Thee till I die.
O mercy, mercy, wash away my sin!"

A mournful spectacle. Devotion excited to madness, while mind, heart,
and conscience, all are dumb, and the poor weak body only bears the
heavy burdens which the tyrannous soul heaps upon it!

Devotion, then, needs _conscience_. Conscience tells a man that he must
act as well as pray. Devotion makes the great act of prayer. Conscience
works out into the actual of every-day life, the ideal of which devotion