of a celestial language in which God talked to him?

Donal sat down, and took his Greek Testament from his pocket. But
all at once, brilliant as was the sun, the light of his life went
out, and the vision rose of the gray quarry, and the girl turning
from him in the wan moonlight. Then swift as thought followed the
vision of the women weeping about the forsaken tomb; and with his
risen Lord he rose also--into a region far "above the smoke and stir
of this dim spot," a region where life is good even with its sorrow.
The man who sees his disappointment beneath him, is more blessed
than he who rejoices in fruition. Then prayer awoke, and in the
light of that morning of peace he drew nigh the living one, and knew
him as the source of his being. Weary with blessedness he leaned
against the shadowing honeysuckle, gave a great sigh of content,
smiled, wiped his eyes, and was ready for the day and what it should
bring. But the bliss went not yet; he sat for a while in the joy of
conscious loss in the higher life. With his meditations and
feelings mingled now and then a few muffled blows of the cobbler's
hammer: he was once more at work on his disabled shoe.

"Here is a true man!" he thought, "--a Godlike helper of his
fellow!"

When the hammer ceased, the cobbler was stitching; when Donal ceased
thinking, he went on feeling. Again and again came a little roll of
the cobbler's drum, giving glory to God by doing his will: the
sweetest and most acceptable music is that which rises from work a
doing; its incense ascends as from the river in its flowing, from
the wind in its blowing, from the grass in its growing. All at once
he heard the voices of two women in the next garden, close behind