celestial fire—i choose a text.
we were confirmed.
as aunt isobel had said, i was spared perplexity by the unmistakable nature of my weakest point. there was no doubt as to what i should pray against and strive against. but on that day it seemed not only as if i could never give way to ill-temper again, but as if the trumpery causes of former outbreaks could never even tempt me to do so. as the lines of that ancient hymn to the holy ghost—"veni creator"—rolled on, i prayed humbly enough that my unworthy efforts might yet be crowned by the sevenfold gifts of the spirit; but that a soul which sincerely longed to be "lightened with celestial fire" could be tempted to a common fit of sulks or scolding by the rub of nursery misdeeds and mischances, felt then so little likely as hardly to be worth deprecating on my knees.
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and yet, when the service was over, the fatigue of the mental strain and of long kneeling and standing began to tell in a feeling that came sadly near to peevishness. i spent the rest of the day resolutely in my room and on my knees, hoping to keep up those high thoughts and emotions which had made me feel happy as well as good. and yet i all but utterly broke down into the most commonplace crossness because philip did not do as i did, but romped noisily with the others, and teased me for looking grave at tea.
i just did not break down. so much remained alive of the "celestial fire," that i kept my temper behind my teeth. long afterwards, when i learnt by accident that philip's "good resolve" on the occasion had been that he would be kinder to "the little ones," i was very glad that i had not indulged my uncharitable impulse to lecture him on indifference to spiritual progress.
that evening aunt isobel gave me a new picture for my room. it was a fine print of the crucifixion, for which i had often longed, a german woodcut in the powerful manner of albert dürer, after a design by michael angelo. it was neither too realistic nor too medi?val, and the face was very noble. aunt isobel had had it framed, and below on an illuminated scroll was written—"what are these wounds in thine [183]hands? those with which i was wounded in the house of my friends."
"i often think," she said, when we had hung it up and were looking at it, "that it is not in our lord's cross and passion that his patience comes most home to us. to be patient before an unjust judge or brutal soldiers might be almost a part of self-respect; but patience with the daily disappointments of a life 'too good for this world,' as people say, patience with the follies, the unworthiness, the ingratitude of those one loves—these things are our daily example. for wounds in the house of our enemies pride may be prepared; wounds in the house of our friends take human nature by surprise, and god only can teach us to bear them. and with all reverence i think that we may say that ours have an element of difficulty in which his were wanting. they are mixed with blame on our own parts."
"that is why you have put that text for me?" said i. my aunt nodded.
i was learning to illuminate, and i took much pride in my room. i determined to make a text for myself, and to choose a very plain passage about ill-temper. mrs. welment's books supplied me with plenty. i chose "let not the sun go down upon your wrath," but i resolved to have the complete text as it stands in the bible. it seemed fair to allow [184]myself to remember that anger is not always a sin, and i thought it useful to remind myself that if by obstinate ill-temper i got the victory in a quarrel, it was only because the devil had got the victory over me. so the text ran full length:—"be ye angry, and sin not; let not the sun go down upon your wrath: neither give place to the devil." it made a very long scroll, and i put it up over my window, and fastened it with drawing-pins.
