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Penance
Dear friends, if it should happen that you
meet a poor creature on your path, a poor
little being who lets his hat hang on his back and
carries his shoes in his hand, refusing protection
against the heat of the sun and the stones in his
way—a waif who willingly calls down ruin upon
his own head—pass him by in silent dismay! It is
the penitent—the penitent on his way to the Holy
Places.
The penitent must wear the coarse gown and
live on bread and water, even if he be a king. He
must walk and never drive; he must beg and never
own. He must sleep on thorns, and he must wear
out the hard pavement of the Holy Places with
his constant kneeling. He must swing the knotted
scourge over his own back. No pleasure can he take
except in suffering—no happiness except in sorrow.
Young Countess Elizabeth once wore the coarse
gown and trod the thorny path. Her heart accused
her of sin. It longed for pain as the weary long for
a refreshing bath, and she brought awful ruin upon
herself when she stepped down joyfully into a cloud
of suffering.
Her husband, the young Count with the head
of an old man on his shoulders, came home on the
morning after the night when the Ekeby Mill was
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Project Runeberg, Sun Dec 10 03:55:33 2023
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