In this supreme moment, one thought only, I think, disturbed the fullness of the saint’s blessedness――the thought that in Ireland no one had been found in all these years of his labors who would add to his apostleship the crown of martyrdom. How he envied St. Peter his cross, St. Paul his sword, St. Bartholomew his knife, St. John his caldron! He had been like these princes of the Church in life, wherefore shall he be unlike them in death? _They_ witnessed unto Christ amidst excruciating torments; is he placidly to expire on his couch? They died hooted and scoffed at by an unbelieving populace; he finds himself surrounded by loving and attentive children. What means this innovation upon the fate of Apostles? But courage, great saint; God looks not upon the gift, but upon the heart. Though the Irish are not a people destined to make martyrs, but rather to become martyrs, yet has not thy whole life been one prolonged martyrdom? Thy slavery, sanctified by prayer and patience, was a martyrdom; thy sacrifice of country, of kindred and of the comforts of thy patrician home was a martyrdom; the ardent zeal which consumed thy life in the hardships of the apostolate was a martyrdom; and whatever may be wanting to thy crown in the shape of torments or persecutions thou shalt receive vicariously in the heroic sufferings of thy children in future ages. Happy fate! Ireland’s apostle suffers not _from_ his children, but _in_ them and _with_ them. I love to dwell upon this sweet scene of St. Patrick’s dying moments. It is a spectacle of which Ireland alone can boast. She alone manifested for her apostle during his lifetime the same filial reverence which she has paid to his memory since his death. The nation stood at his bedside to cheer his declining strength with tender solicitude. And the saint, whose love for his children was stronger than death, forgetful of himself, concentrates his failing energies upon the one great object of his affections and his triumphs. Gather about your aged father, children of Ireland, and catch the last precious words which are quivering upon his lips. “Grant me this favor, O Lord,” he murmurs, “that my people may remain ever true to the faith I have taught them.” With this prophetic prayer on his lips, the blessed man of God passed away to his heavenly home. He passed away; but his spirit remained with his people, and throughout all the vicissitudes of their extraordinary history they have remained ever “true to the faith.”