Since the coming of the Catholic and Protestant missionaries a new impetus has been imparted to the Armenians in the line of education. Mukhetar of Sebaste, an Armenian monk, established an order of the Catholic monks at the convent of St. Lazarus in Venice (1717), which became a great center of learning. The monks of this order and monastery have rendered great service for the education of the Armenians in general, and the Catholic Armenians in particular. “These fathers have won the interest and admiration of European scholars by their publication of Armenian classics, together with many learned original contributions.”[81] The Armenian youths also, like in the olden times, flocked into other centers of learning both in Europe and America. Roberts’ College, in Constantinople, had the largest number of Armenian students from its beginning (1860). The native schools, in every town and city in the provinces, were also very much improved; moreover, the Protestant mission schools of all grades were also freely patronized by many.[82] The Christian civilization and education brought out the metal and character of the Armenians, and also created in the hearts of the Mohammedan rulers the rankest kind of hatred against the former. So they have decided to destroy both the Christian and Christianity in their native home. Mohammedanism is a moral and religious photophobia; it dreads the light of civilization and Christianity. So the ministers, priests and teachers are slaughtered; the churches and schools are burnt down by the followers of the false prophet. A few samples of Armenian poems also might have been given but my determination not to write a large book restrains me. The following is a poem--one of many--written by Father Leo Alishan, a monk of the Mukhetarist order of the convent at Venice, translated by Alice Stone Blackwell: WEEP NOT (Jesus is Near) Why art thou troubled, wandering heart? Why dost thou sigh with pain? From whom do all thy sufferings come? Of whom dost thou complain? Is there no cure for wounds, no friend To lend a pitying ear? Why art thou troubled, wandering heart? Weep not! See Jesus near! Sorrow and hardship are for all Though differing forms they wear. The path He gave us teems with thorns, The feet must suffer there. What life, though but a day’s brief span, Is free from pain and woe? ’Tis not for mortals born in grief To live at ease below. Not, for the transient joys of earth Thy heart to thee was given, But for an instrument of grief To raise thy life toward heaven. If joys be few, if pains abound, If balms bring slow relief, If wounds be sore and nature weak, Thy earthly life is brief. This is the vale of death and pain, Ordained for ancient sin, Except through anguish, Eden’s gate No soul shall enter in.