But a goodly company still remained in the crypt of the
church at prayer, in some instances fighting off sleep by marching up
and down in companies, chanting night-prayers.
Thus a nation's ardent worshipers assembled in devotion at the spot
sanctified by the visions of Bernadette Soubirons. And what shall we
say of her? Her professed visions cannot be set aside as impostures
against the voice of thousands whose skepticism, as great as ours,
has been abashed. It could not have been in the nature of this artless
child, unencouraged and alone, to have been an impostor. Such would
have been a role thoroughly foreign to her character. Perhaps there
may have been illusion, a self-nourished fancy, evoked from the silent
reveries of those solitary days at Bastres, when her mind was for long
periods given up to undisturbed imaginings. Who can say?
WILLIAM D. WOOD.
BENEDICTION.
Good-bye, good-bye, my dearest!
My bravest and my fairest!
I bless thee with a blessing meet
For all thy manly worth.
Good-bye, good-bye, my treasure!
My only pride and pleasure!
I bless thee with the strength of love
Before I send thee forth.
Mine own! I fear to bless thee,
I hardly dare caress thee,
Because I love thee with a love
That overgrows my life;
And as the time gets longer
Its tender throbs grow stronger:
My maiden troth but waits to be
The fondness of the wife.
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