The world is moving onward. Our world is willing just now that we
move with and direct it. But how long, O Lord, how long? Let us
remain stationary and it will move without us; and once lost,
lost for ever.

A glance at the Continent should fire us to desperate efforts.
You see the Church dashed to pieces in the seething vortex of
destruction; in some countries honey-combed to rottenness, ready
to totter and fall before the first outburst of Socialistic fury.
The Press teems with ribald jeer and blatant blasphemy. The
priesthood, a separate caste, hounded like lepers of old from the
highways of public life, voiceless and despised--the apostate
priest hailed with delight smothered in incense--the faithful
priest lashed at the pillar of public scorn. O God, shall
Ireland--the last fortress--follow?

That question is for us to answer: the shaping of the future lies
in the hands of the living present.

Let listlessness prevail, and when an apostle of evil does arise,
perhaps in the not distant future, he will appeal to the past for
his justification.

He will tell the people, that for a full century three thousand
four hundred priests were upon the land. Talent, leisure and
unbounded trust were theirs. Yet, where are the literature,
village libraries, social organizations, or other agencies of
enlightenment promoted by them? Has not the country rotted and
the emigrant ship been glutted? Away with them! Why cumber they