he imagined that the Saviour Himself came towards him, gazed lovingly
into his face, and turned to beckon some one, Benedictus did not know
whom, heavenward. Suddenly the clouds that had covered the sky parted,
and the old man fancied he heard the song of the troubadour whose soul
had been subdued by love for God, which his friend and master had
addressed to his Redeemer. It must come from the lips of his angels on
high, but he longed to join in the strain. True, his aged lips, rapidly
as they moved, uttered no sound, but he fancied he was sharing in this
song of the soul, glowing with fervent, consuming flames of love,
dedicated to the Saviour, the source of all love:

"Love's flames my kindling heart control,
Love for my Bridegroom fair,
When on my hand he placed the ring,
The Lamb whose fervent love I share
Did pierce my inmost soul,"

the fiery song began, and an absorbing yearning for death and the beloved
Redeemer, whose form had vanished in the sea of flames surging before his
dilated eyes, moved the very depths of his soul as he commenced the
second verse:

"My heart amidst Love's tortures broke,
Slain by the might of Love's keen stroke,
To earth my senseless body sank,
Love's flames my life-blood drank."

With flushed cheeks, utterly borne away from the world and everything
which surrounded him, he raised his arms towards heaven, then they
suddenly fell. Starting up, he passed his hand over his dazzled eyes and