him, and he stops a good deal longer than the first. {265} Then there comes an artist, and he sees in the picture something greater even. He takes in the genius of the conception, the fitness of attitude and expression, the light and shade, the tints of color, the difficulties overcome by art; and he comes and sits before it, day after day, for hours, absorbed in the study of its beauties. And another comes who is a poet, and to him it brings back the scene of Calvary. In a moment he is far away, and the sun is darkened, and the earth quakes, and there are thunderings and lightnings, and once more the Holy City pours forth its multitude to witness the death of Jesus. And then there comes a sinner. Ah! that story of love and suffering! which tells how God so loved the world, and gave His only-begotten Son, that all who believe in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life. To him, that picture speaks of the horrors of sin, of mercy, of heaven and hell, and thoughts are awakened by it which lead him back to God. There hangs the picture, unaltered. It is just what the artist made it, neither more nor less, yet see how different it has been to different beholders. Now, just so it is with the preaching of the truth. As we recite the Creed, as we preach to you, Sunday after Sunday, the Creed itself is indeed unchangeable, but it is a different thing to each one of us who preach, and to each one of you who hear, according to your intelligence, your past history, and your present dispositions. How can it be otherwise? Does not the very word, God, mean something different to us from what it does to a saint? Do not the words Presence of God, mean something different to you and me from what they did to St. Teresa, to whom the soul of man appeared as a castle with seven chambers, each one more sacred than the others, as you advanced into the interior, until the innermost shrine was reached, where God and the soul were joined together in a manner which human language knows not how to utter? {266} Do you not see that the doctrine of the Incarnation is something very different to us from what it was to St. Athanasius, who spent his whole life in conflict for it, who endured years of exile and calumny, the estrangement of friends, the suspicion even of good men, rather than falter the least in fidelity to that verity on which his soul had fed? Or the Real Presence--is that not a different thing to the crowd who come to church and kneel from custom, but hardly remember why, from what it was to St. Thomas, who composed in honor of it the wonderful hymns _Pange Lingua_ and _Lauda Sion_, or to St. Francis Xavier, who spent nights in prayer, prostrate upon the platform of the altar? Why, St. Thomas, who has so written of the Christian faith that the Church has named him the angelical doctor, threw down his pen in hopelessness of being able to express the high knowledge of divine things which filled his soul. And St.