JUBILEE OF NOVEMBER

At a lowly altar kneeling. just fifty years ago,

His soul within him burning, his heart with love aglow,

Knelt the humble Oblate Novice, and to Jesus vowed his life Through Mary’s aid, to serve his Lord, and battle in the strife.

Now gone are all affections, for country, home and friends, Now waits the good young Oblaïe his father’s word which sends Him far across the water, to America's far shore.

Full well he knows that dear old France will be his home no more.

€ Quam speciosi pedes” yes, beautiful indeed,

The way pursuëd by this young man to those who sat in ne:d Of knowing that there is a God, and He alone is Love,

Of learning of that happy home, prepared for them above.

And so, twelve long weary years, he labors hard, and well, Among the poor tribes of the. wood Ah, Brothers, who can tell, In fitting words, the noble deeds, the sacrifice, the pain

Of Mary's Oblate, when he strove for God these souls to gain!

“ My poor are with you always” the Master once had said, And Jesus, poor and lowlv, with no place to lay his head,

Had shown the royal road way, the Missioner must take, Whose like work was, souls to redeem for the Great Master's sake.

But other sheep of Israel's house, were yet, not in the foid, And to these poor benighted ones, must blessings come untold, And fourteen summers labors he, not in the forest grand,

But midst the noise of cities large, in our own dear fatherland.

And all this time he ne’er forgot, that Mary s child was he, And ne'er forgot she guided him, wherever he might be. This thought, it was, that pressed him on for Christ to gain, It mattered not, what e’er the cost, the weariness, the pain.

In weariness, his strength, his cross, his hope, an immortal crown! That one day, it would be his lot, to wear when all was'won. The thought that ever urged him on, in life to persevere,

Was the joyful one, that prayers for him arose from Brothers dear.

We need not dwell upon the work in which he took a part, "Tis written, not in stone alone, but in his people’s heart. Church, Convent, School, all, all arose by dint of mighty task. What nobler monument, O say, can any mortal ask ?

Before God's altar, kneeling, this morn at rise of sun,

An old man, Child of Mary, heard his angel say : “ Well done!” Thy fifty years are now ail changed to jewels rich, and bright, To decorate thy crown above, in thy blessed home of light.

And now, dear Father, hear our wish, our prayers to God for thee: May many happy years be thine before eternity,

May Sorrow never lay her-hand upon thy snow-crowned brow, May all the happiness be thine, that Heaven can allow.

Ces quelques strophes lues avec âme ont été admirablement bien goûtées. C'était le meilleur dessert qui ait jamais été servi à la fin d’un dîner. Si vous l'avez dégusté en entier, amis lecteurs, vous avez pu en savourer la douceur, l'élégance et la candeur : qualités que l’on retrouve dans l’auteur lui-même ; OF, le stylé, c’est l’homme!

Gais et contents, nous n'avions plus qu'à faire nos préparatifs pour la grande procession.