O zeal inflamed and generous! No rest While heart and hand the path to heaven may trace For souls brought back on Calvary’s bleeding crest; No rest while he one tender lamb may place, All bruised, for healing on the Saviour’s breast. No sweet repose of prayer and love while pure And virgin hearts, aspiring heavenward, pine For light and guidance in the way obscure And thorny leading to the mystic shrine— The “inner temple,” where God, throned secure, Binds fast the soul in his embrace divine. No rest for him while still on earth the fire His Master brought remains unkindled; while One human heart, Grief’s trembling, deep-toned lyre, Vibrates not to his Master’s touch with smile Of peace, ev’n while the chords are breaking; higher, And higher still! the sacrificial pile Awaits a host of generous souls who mount With ardor at his word; new strength endows, And, like the phœnix,[42] they from Light’s own Fount Draw odorous flames of love; while sacred vows Bind them, like Isaac, hand and foot, who count The sword and fire but pleasure with their Spouse. O priceless heritage of poet-saint! What wisdom born of Heaven adorns each page! To fancy seems some master-hand to paint; To intellect speaks philosophic sage; Passion impulsive yields to sweet constraint, And heart and will bow down in every age. Strange spell which o’er the soul it casts! the strong, Clear message more like ancient prophet’s tone; Again, to his full gaze as mysteries throng, Its breathings are the loved disciple’s own; And now it rises like th’ ecstatic song Of some grand seraph veiled before the throne! Footnote 41: If I knew there was one fibre in my heart which was not all God’s I would instantly pluck it out.—_St. Francis de Sales._ Footnote 42: St. Francis draws many beautiful illustrations from this mythical bird. The ancients asserted that when age had exhausted the strength of the phœnix it built a funeral-pile of aromatic gums and wood on the top of some high mountain, and, ascending it when the sun was in his meridian splendor, lit the pile by the fanning of its wings, and was consumed to ashes. From these ashes sprang another phœnix. CONRAD AND WALBURGA. CHAPTER I. Among the many beautiful paintings by world-known artists which adorn the old Pinakothek in Munich is one symbolizing Innocence, by Carlo Dolce. It represents a lovely, rosy-cheeked girl gazing frankly at you; down her shoulders floats a stream of golden hair, and clasped to her bosom is a lamb.