A Childs Book of Saints | Page 5

Redlands and the Warren, and the pines where we sat
(snug and dry) looked so solemn and dark that, with a little fancy, it
was easy to change the living greenwood into the forest of stone.
As they were told, under the pressure of an insatiable listener, so have
they been written, save for such a phrase, here and there, as slips more
readily from the pen than from the tongue.
Of the stories which were told, but which have not been written for this
book, if W. V. should question me, I shall answer in the wise words of
the Greybeard of Broce-Liande: "However hot thy thirst, and however
pleasant to assuage it, leave clear water in the well."

[1] The year of the happy hills, 1898.

The Song of the Minster
When John of Fulda became Prior of Hethholme, says the old chronicle,
he brought with him to the Abbey many rare and costly
books--beautiful illuminated missals and psalters and portions of the
Old and New Testament. And he presented rich vestments to the
Minster; albs of fine linen, and copes embroidered with flowers of gold.
In the west front he built two great arched windows filled with
marvellous storied glass. The shrine of St. Egwin he repaired at vast
outlay, adorning it with garlands in gold and silver, but the colour of
the flowers was in coloured gems, and in like fashion the little birds in
the nooks of the foliage. Stalls and benches of carved oak he placed in

the choir; and many other noble works he had wrought in his zeal for
the glory of God's house.
In all the western land was there no more fair or stately Minster than
this of the Black Monks, with the peaceful township on one side, and
on the other the sweet meadows and the acres of wheat and barley
sloping down to the slow river, and beyond the river the clearings in the
ancient forest.
But Thomas the Sub-prior was grieved and troubled in his mind by the
richness and the beauty of all he saw about him, and by the Prior's
eagerness to be ever adding some new work in stone, or oak, or metal,
or jewels.
"Surely," he said to himself, "these things are unprofitable--less to the
honour of God than to the pleasure of the eye and the pride of life and
the luxury of our house! Had so much treasure not been wasted on
these vanities of bright colour and carved stone, our dole to the poor of
Christ might have been fourfold, and they filled with good things. But
now let our almoner do what best he may, I doubt not many a leper
sleeps cold, and many a poor man goes lean with hunger."
This the Sub-prior said, not because his heart was quick with
fellowship for the poor, but because he was of a narrow and gloomy
and grudging nature, and he could conceive of no true service of God
which was not one of fasting and praying, of fear and trembling, of
joylessness and mortification.
Now you must know that the greatest of the monks and the hermits and
the holy men were not of this kind. In their love of God they were
blithe of heart, and filled with a rare sweetness and tranquillity of soul,
and they looked on the goodly earth with deep joy, and they had a
tender care for the wild creatures of wood and water. But Thomas had
yet much to learn of the beauty of holiness.
Often in the bleak dark hours of the night he would leave his cell and
steal into the Minster, to fling himself on the cold stones before the
high altar; and there he would remain, shivering and praying, till his

strength failed him.
It happened one winter night, when the thoughts I have spoken of had
grown very bitter in his mind, Thomas guided his steps by the glimmer
of the sanctuary lamp to his accustomed place in the choir. Falling on
his knees, he laid himself on his face with the palms of his outstretched
hands flat on the icy pavement. And as he lay there, taking a cruel joy
in the freezing cold and the torture of his body, he became gradually
aware of a sound of far-away yet most heavenly music.
He raised himself to his knees to listen, and to his amazement he
perceived that the whole Minster was pervaded by a faint mysterious
light, which was every instant growing brighter and clearer. And as the
light increased the music grew louder and sweeter, and he knew that it
was within the sacred walls. But it was no mortal minstrelsy.
The strains he heard were the minglings of angelic instruments, and the