You spring from your bed. Your cloak is old — thin almost
as a web ; nathless, you hug it closely around you, and with
stout heart and composed soul follow your guide through path
and no path — ^bog and mire. The thunder splits above you — the
lightning chases your steps: but like a good spirit sent on
God's own errand, you pass scathless on. You enter the hut of
the dying ; you comfort and strengthen the quivering soul. It
departs to the Qreat Source it came from. And then in peace and
prayer you retrace your steps, and sleep the sleep of the good.
But your own heart, my dear young friend, will best find out
your duties. You will feel that every moment of your life must
be a living example to all men. You must feel that your daily
actions are as a mirror by which your flock are to dress their
souls : that your every gesture should be gentle — ^your every
word soft and sweet even as a note of well-touched music. Your
life must be the active comment on the text you are sworn to, or
your life is naught.
