An Angel touched me.

"Be thou clean," he said, "and go, I charge thee, to thy work. Thy
master is not dead, but only begins his joy. While time is, thou shalt
work for him and thy deeds of good shall be his own. Wherever thou
shalt go let the Cross arise that, under its shadow, the children may
gather and the song find new strength and new volume to lift him
nearer and nearer the Throne."

So I am happy that I have learned my real power; that I can do what
alone is worth doing--for His sake.




LE BRAILLARD DE LA MAGDELEINE[1]


This is the story that the old sailor from Tadousac told me when the
waves were leaping, snapping, and frothing at us from the St.
Lawrence, and over the moan of the wind and the anger of the waters
rose the wail of the Braillard de la Magdeleine.

"You hear him? Every storm he calls so loud. I think of my own baby
when I hear him, always the same, always so sorrowful. Poor baby!

"Yes, it is a baby. Across there you might see, but the storm darkens
everything, yonder toward Gaspe, where the little mother
lived--_pauvre mêre_. She was only a child, innocent and good and
happy, when he came--the great lord, the _Grand Seigneur_, from