USA > California > Alameda County > Oakland > Silver jubilee memorial Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal., 1868-1893 > Part 3
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OUR EVERY DAY BLESSINGS
Gifts from the hand are silver and gold, but the heart gives that which neither silver nor gold can buy. Let us not then stand upon the ocean shore, straining our eyes to catch a glimpse of the ship that may never reach port, but let us manfully, joyfully board the skiff that lies anchored in the harbor, and though the voyage may seem longer, we will surely reach our destination in safety.
FLORENCE HYDE.
Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal.
A SMILE of approval may be a stepping stone to success. A look of encouragement from those we love may call into being slumber- ing resolutions and forgotten promises that will rise as so many barriers against our own weakness .- K. K.
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On a Picture of ft. Cecilia
IN THE MUSIC ROOM.
O picture in the golden frame, Fair as the morning sky ! Where is the charm that round thee breathes ? Where doth thy beauty lie ?
'Tis not the beam of light, 'Tis not the lovely hair, 'Tis not the cheek of softest white That makes the face so fair.
'Tis not the smiling lips so pure That breathe with mute appeal, Nor hands in childish fervor clasped, . As if in prayer to steal.
'Tis not the mantle folded close Around the form of grace ; 'Tis not the colors soft and fair, Nor richly broider'd lace.
No-but the charm is hidden here In eyes of turquoise hue, Whose pure and soulful depths reflect The tint of Heaven's own blue.
No passion could disturb a soul Lit by such flames divine, Where hope and beauty, love and faith, In sweetness ever shine. EMMA ROSENTHAL.
Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal.
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0 The Priesthood
**
1 Essay written February 27th, 1890 on the occasion of Rev. M. King's Silver Jubilee-25 years' pastorate in Oakland.]
The Priest ! Before this sublime invention of God's love for man, the vaunted names of earthly grandeur fade into insignificance ; the brightest lights of man's contrivance are but darkness in the Heaven-born rays of so mighty a sun. To announce to a world of ransomed souls the mandates of the Creator, to minister the rites of Holy Church, to offer to Heaven the sacrifice of Calvary-such are the duties of him to whose predecessors it was said, " Go, and teach all nations !"
The Priest cares for earth, only, as it holds the price of a Savior's blood ; fame attracts him not, and glory cannot allure ; for these are the rewards of men of the earth, earthly. Heaven alone has' charms for God's annointed.
Wherever we turn, these faithful workers are employed ; there is no page of history which does not bear the record of their deeds. Now, their voice is heard from the upraised pulpit 'neath the lofty arch of grand cathedrals ; or, veiled round with floating clouds of fragrant incense, Christ's minister is offering before the altar the prayers of the worshipers. In the bustle and uproar of the mighty city, in the crowded tenement, where the victims of poverty are dy- ing in squalid misery; in the far distant village, where privation waits upon the worker ; in every circumstance, the same untiring guardians of the scattering flock are patiently sustaining the long and weary watch. On the blood-stained battle field, where shot and shell are menacing the lives of thousands ; where the wounded and
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SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL
the dying are strewn thickest, and in the fiercest fury of the conflict, the gentle words of God and Heaven, spoken by the champions of the Cross, have soothed to rest the struggling heart of many a brave warrior.
No land is too remote for this Divine commissioner to proclaim the Master's words ; from frozen polar regions to torrid Africa and wild Australia, the same tireless toilers pursue their way. Savage hearts are subdued and brought under the influence of the Great Master whom they ignored, and their child-like.faith, while it consoles the heart of the priest, often puts to blush the learned and enlightened of our great century.
Such is the royal Priesthood ! Such the selfless existence of its members ; yet, so unassumingly and silently are achieved these con- quests, that the busy world scarce pauses to notice the results, until, one day, when long years have come and gone, all eyes are turned in wonderment to the golden harvest that the patient laborer has garnered in for heaven. Then, perchance, even strange hearts must needs join with those who have always been appreciative, loving and filial ; and, with one acclaim, lay at the pastor's feet their heartfelt congratulations.
MARY J. WORKMAN.
Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal.
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Farewell *
A moment, ere the day is done, I pause, dear friends, to say adieu, To bid the past a sad farewell, To bid a welcome to the new.
What joy to 'scape from study's rule, And launch on Life's tempestuous sea,' To fly to scenes where wonders dwell, And, like an uncaged bird, be free !
Yet, ah ! my heart why throbbest thou, With feelings both of joy and woe ? What means this mist that clouds my eyes ? These tears which now so sadly flow !
There is a sorrow in my joy, A sadness in my ev'ry smile, As thoughts of old come stealing back And whisper, " Yet, a little while !"
I know the cloudless azure sky, Which hovered lightly o'er my past, Will soon be changed to darker hues, Ere long the storms will o'er it cast !
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SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL
Untried, I stand upon the shore, I fain would longer here abide, I dread the ocean's stormy wave O'er which my fragile bark must glide.
'Tis ever thus-a few brief hours Of happiness undimmed by tears, Our path with flowers now is strewn, With prickly thorns, in later years.
Since childhood my frail bark has been A fairy toy, on summer's sea, With scarce an adverse breath of wind To trouble its tranquillity.
But now, 'tis gone-the past has fled, The future lies all veiled before ! I bid adieu to these old halls, To scenes I'll never enter more.
In later years, when Time's stern hand Has laid his traces on my brow, I'll wander back on fancy's wing, To the loving friends I am leaving now.
Within a few fast fleeting weeks, These dear old halls will ring once more With merry voices full of mirth, With stranger forms unknown before .-
In after years, strange hearts will know The love and care which once was mine, Then stranger brows will oft be decked With crowns like these, which round me twine.
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FAREWELL
'Tis sad to part when through me steal Sweet mem ries of each treasured spot, But sadder far, it is to think That soon my name will be forgot !
But though I may forgotten be When from these scenes I speed away, Still in my heart there'll linger oft Fond mem'ries of this parting day.
And ere we part, with faltering lips, I thank you all, dear Sister band, And you, dear friends, with whom I've trod The paths of school life hand in hand.
Dear Sisters, bless me with your prayers, Keep one lingering thought for me, They'll waft sweet mem'ries o'er my soul, Consoling thoughts they'll always be.
ADELE F. KEYES, E. DE M.,
Conveut of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal., June 28, 1872.
1
Mortality and Immortality
The fairer the beauties of earth, the more perishable are they. Beauty is a flower of to-day, that to-morrow lies withered and sere upon the stalk.
In the early morning, just before Aurora draws the bolts of the Eastern gates, and Phœbus in all his glory mounts the distant hills, in that magic hour between darkness and daylight, what more beauti- ful than the crystal jewels that gem every leaf and bud ? Fresh from heaven they seem to have fallen, to bathe the lovely flowers, before the sun has cleared the zenith, they will have vanished like a dream.
The fairest buds that bloom to-day in the gardens of earth, will have passed away to-morrow. What delight it is to gaze upon those fragile beauties of the field ; to breathe the sweet incense which they burn, their whole life long, in the temple of Nature. The hare-bell, swinging its turquoise censer to and fro in the wind ; the graceful pampas lifting its head in confident superiority; the immaculate lily, swaying its crested cup ; and the little blue violets nestling be- neath their friendly emerald canopies, whisper sweet secrets to the passing breeze. To-morrow, we will find but a few withered flowers, and a sense of desolation will pervade the rural retreat. The ame- thyst petals no longer nod in the sunshine ; the hare-bell droops as though weighed down by some new sorrow, and the lily's leaves are curled as though in scorn ; the breath of decay has blighted the flowers, and naught of their beauty remains. Ah ! how sad it is
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REV. THOMAS MCSWEENEY RECTOR ST. FRANCIS DE SALES, OAKLAND, CAL.
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MORTALITY AND IMMORTALITY
that mortality must thus limit our every joy ! Like the spectre at the feast, it ever stands, and with warning finger points, while re- peating with the Psalmist : "And this too will pass away."
I have knelt at the twilight hour, when all was hushed in silent peace, and peered far into the purple distance where earth and sky meet in melted harmony; I have marveled at the beauties of the western sky, bathed in floods of mellow light; I have adored the Power that wrought these beauties, but ere I had drunk in one-half their grandeur, I felt chilled ; the night mists were falling around me, and darkness covered the vision of loveliness. Oh ! why could not that glorious vision last forever ? Why could not the artist who blended and commingled those aerial tints confer upon the picture the gift of Immortality ?
Man is free, he is superior to every other created being, he is mas- ter of the animal kingdom, and all its members are subservient to his will ; and must he too, the noblest work of God, lie fettered in the slavery of mortality ?
Man too must die. But for him death is not the final limit of existence, death to him is but the threshold of eternity. For every other creature death marks the goal ; the race is run ; but man in this very point proclaims his superiority. The goal for him is also reached, but the victor, man, is crowned with immortal laurels, and the prize is eternal bliss.
The reign of death is not eternal. Immortality receives at last the sceptre and the crown, and reanimates the flowers felled by Death. The dewdrops that nestled this morning in the heart of the violets, gleamed in tints of rose and purple from the cortege of Phœbus, as he sank to rest in the distant ocean, and to-morrow they may begem some fairer blossom in another clime. They have not died ; they have only passed from earth to heaven to be purified, and sparkle again as beautiful as yesterday.
And the flowers? Have they passed away forever? Will not the lily raise again its graceful head, and the violets nod a welcome to the passer-by? Aye, they only sleep, and will bloom again fairer
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SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL
than to-day. 'And man? He lies down upon the bier to rise amid angels and delight. The happiest hours of life are shadowed by the presence of Mortality, and the very thought, that transient are the joys that to-day delight the heart, is already a drop of bitter in the cup of sweet. The thought of Mortality is a source of annoyance to the merry, but it is a consolation to the sad. They know that death brings alleviation to every sorrow, and they welcome the grim guest. Welcome or not, however, he steals as silently as the dark- ness when " the day is done," and robs the dearest gems from the casket of love.
The soul of the great Socrates proved its nobility when it whis- pered to him that Death would only set it free. What material instincts inspired those philosophers who believed that the breath of God which He had infused into the clay, was nothing higher than the substantial form, and with it would return to dust !
Immortality is the great incentive to virtue. If we thought that Death is the terminus of life, how hard it would be for us to conquer evil and practice virtue. But with a soul, God gave us the instinct- ive longing after Him, and the knowledge that He would claim His own when our pilgrimage is over. Mortality should then be a cause of gratitude to us-gratitude that God has not placed us here on earth to toil and sorrow unrecompensed forever ; but has promised to share with us for all Eternity His Heavenly Kingdom, where tears are strangers, and Peace and Love are the wardens of the gates.
LUCILE EDWARDS.
Content of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal.
My Window
**
How many happy hours have I spent at my window, hours of rest in my joy, hours of peace and calm in my sorrow. Well may I love my window ; it has been a friend indeed to me. Oft in my · bright, happy days of gladness, when life's waves of pleasure were surging all about me, have I sat by it, because I was weary of my fleeting joys, and longed for a little peace. Then my window pre- sented to me earth's sights and sounds to soothe my troubled soul, and when affliction and woe pressed heavily upon my heart and earth's brightness seemed passing far, far, from me, then again, like a sweet consoler, it led my spirit, from the inward clouds of bitter- ness that wrapped it in their sombre folds, out into the sunlight and beauty that flooded earth and sky.
My window is the frame of those glorious pictures that are placed before my admiring eyes, and though the background to that paint- ing remains the same, yet ever and anon, as the seasons come and go and day glides into night, Nature changes the color of the sky, paints the earth a different hue, places the golden ears of corn in the fields or blots these out, and strips the leaves from the trees showing me earth in all her wintry beauty.
Far off in the distance, the dark hills stand, and up their sides fair mansions rise, white and pure against the sky, each one just a little way nearer the summit. As the sun touches each one of these buildings, their whiteness is changed into a soft glimmering light, and as the windows glisten and flush beneath the touch of that royal king's hand, it seems as though the angels were carrying the bright records of men's good deeds unto the bosom of their God.
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SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL.
There is one hill that lies in a line with my window. Upon its side no stately mansions of stone or marble are erected, for there alone, lie those noble deserted temples of the breath of God, the silent, peaceful dead. I cannot look from my window, but I see that resting place, beautiful reminder to me, of where I some day shall lie when life's restless waves have surged from my feet away and have cast my soul from the sea-bed of Time unto the shores of Eternity. The cross that surmounts that hill, stands solitary and grand, alone in its beauty, above all other points of the scene seem- ing to touch the fair skies above, thus again uniting earth and heaven, as it did on that bitter day on Calvary's heights.
As I look through my window, my beautiful kaleidoscope, the fields lie at my feet with a streamlet in their lap, hiding itself in their embrace, like a beautiful boy in his mother's arms. The city stands further off ; the sound of its strife and noise comes to me mingled with the tender babbling of the brook, subdued into a sweet, low, continuous murmur, and I think that. if those sounds are sweetened to me at such a short distance from them, when earth's noise and clamor, its laughter and tears reach Heaven's gate, they must be softened into the faintest, gentlest refrain, pleasing even to angels' ears.
I have sat at my window at morn, when the grasses were still wet with the drops of water that Nature has spilt in mixing her colors over night and myriads of birds warbled and trilled the sweet tones of their melody. The fair stream went smiling on its way ; I have gazed at my picture, watching Nature paint the sky a deeper blue, place a golden sun in the heavens, and then over all throw a veil of glorious sunshine, thus ever changing its color- ing unto sunny noon and again unto golden eve, when all the glory of earth and sky seems to blend, in order to beautify the last · moments of dying day. These moments are ever the loveliest por- tions of day's brief life. I remember one sunset of exquisite beauty.
It was summer and a soft haze filled the air like the incense
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MY WINDOW
that we scatter round our beloved dead ; a hush was on earth and all her creatures, for day was sinking, passing from time on the wings of night into the arms of eternity. The sun was resting on the dark hills like a king on his couch, sending his hand maidens, the glorious shafts of color and splendor, to bid farewell to the. sur- rounding hills, and to kiss the valley and the stream good-night, while he, in all his royal beauty waited their return. Then the golden disk was seen sinking, sinking, until only a slender crescent remained, and that too vanished, but the sunset splendor remained.
The heavens were tinged with a soft, mellow, purple and golden light, while here and there a faint pink flush was on the sky. But over the spot where the cross marked the resting-place of those who sleep forevermore, the sky was a deep, beautiful red its luminous edges fringed with gold, a crown as it were suspended there, a mark of God's benediction. Then the beauty slowly faded, and night crept on with stealthy step, bearing in the dark folds of his mantle, the beautiful moon, whose loveliness he would reveal only when his sombre tapestry had been pinned securely down on earth. Then when he had pushed back his dark garment, the glorious moon, that fair sister of the sun, stepped forth and gazed with loving ten- derness on the pale face of queenly earth. The lights of the city" shone out one by one, like loops of stars let down from heaven to lead our thoughts, whence they came. So my window teaches me each day a new lesson of love and thanksgiving to Him, who has made all the beauty that floods the universe.
But too soon was my window darkened. They erected a building that shut out from me one by one, each loved object of my beautiful picture and with every blow of the workman's hammer, it seemed as if my heart-strings were being wrenched and torn, and my spirit crushed to earth, for the scenes that I love can never more be seen framed by the window that has been more than a friend to me ; those paintings shall henceforth exist only in the gallery of my memory ; and now all that is left to my yearning gaze, is the sky above, and the cross that crowns the homes of the peaceful dead.
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SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL
Thus it is in life. We stand in youth's bright morning, at the window of hope, and gaze on a world all fair to our young eyes and all that we see is beautiful, because our hearts are ready and willing to receive the beauty. Earth and sea and sky are flooded with splendor, the future wears a halo of glorious color on its brow, and we are too engaged in looking at earth to raise our souls to the heaven that lies beyond.
But soon the walls of sorrow and affliction, of age and blighted hopes, rise up before us and shut out earth's sights and sounds from our weary hearts, and when the future, which looked so bright becomes the present, its charm is gone and "like Dead Sea fruit it turns to ashes at our touch." As the wall rises higher and higher around our breaking hearts, nothing is left us to look up to, save the cross and heaven-meet emblems of our burden in life and our reward that goes beyond life even unto eternity.
CHRISTINE O'NEILL.
Convent of the Holy Names, San Francisco, Cal.
HHS
God only knows the stormy tumult of every life. His love it is that calms the agitations of the human heart ; His thought that spirit- ualizes the peace and joys of earth. He alone knows every mighty conquest, every ignoble thought spurned, every temptation bravely overcome, and it is He who makes Heaven the eternal abode of His loved ones, of those who have trod the paths of the lowly, who have sought the shelter of His love in their earthly pilgrimage .- Kate Keaney.
At the Shrine of Our Lady of Sorrows
The slanting shadows slowly creep Around this world of light and love, They weave a carpet whereon sleep The stars of evening's sunset hours. The trembling rose leaves climb above A lattice work of beauty rare, Their fragile blossoms lightly sway And shed sweet perfumes on the air.
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The angel-lilies, fair and sweet, A faithful vigil fondly keep, As swinging to and fro they meet And mix their fragrant incensed breath, With breath of hidden violet. The cool and palmy ferns uplift Their tufted fronds of veined leaves And fill, like sunshine, every rift.
Amidst these shades and balmy airs, A refuge dear, well-loved by all, Cross-crowned Our Lady's Shrine, appears. O mystic hour, of twilight dim,
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1
SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL
An added charm thou e'er dost bring. To-night thou bidst me simply weave A memory kept in many a heart, A memory sad that does not grieve.
When first the rays of morning shine And wake alike the flower and bird, The ever pleasant task is mine, To note the willing foot-step turned, By groups of dancing children fair, To pathway leading to this Shrine ; The blue sky bending over all, A benediction seems to fall.
At noon, the sultry rays of sun, Well hid by leafy arch and bower, Behold the quiet persuasive nun, With humble mien and downcast eye, Approach the cherished altar throne ; Of loved duty 'tis a part To lay each prayer at Mary's feet- Her arms encircle Jesus' heart.
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White-veiled, like group of angels clad, The novice band serene doth stand ; Their pure young souls forever glad, Shine through each face with heavenly glow ; No burdens on their hearts do lie, For, casting all their cares on Him, Who counts the bird on every limb- Their souls in calm content e'er live.
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UNIDA SF
GROTTO OF OUR LADY OF LOURDES INTERIOR OF PIĘTA
SHRINE OF OUR LADY OF SORROWS ST. JOSEPH'S SHRINE
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AT THE SHRINE OF OUR LADY OF SORROWS
And, thus succeeding, one by one, Come spirits joyous, spirits glad ; Some, souls devout, at set of sun, To lay their prayerful wishes down ; And some, to ask the precious boon That innocence may ever know, The soul that now is stainless pure, Rivaling in its white the snow.
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O, Mother dear, Thy sorrow deep, Is marked by eyes that ever seek To fathom mysteries that sleep Beneath the closed lids of Him, Who loved the world too well, too well ; To-night, I ask a gift of Thee, To live, so filled with pain, for love Of thee, that all my life may be A ministry to thy dear Son.
AGATHA SCRIMZEOUR.
Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cat.
NATURE's palette is the earth ; her brush, God's love of the beautiful .- K. K.
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not for Myself Alone
'· Not for myself alone "-
" O man, forget not thou, earth's honored priest,
" In earth's great chorus to sustain thy part."
Flower and beast and all created things proclaim the lesson,- the noblest lesson that man can learn-to live not alone for one's self, but for the world-for the elevation of the human race-for the glory of the Creator.
Not for itself did God create the brook, sparkling and laughing, now in the sunshine, now in the shadow. It must bring fertility to the land, to help the pretty flowers and waving trees to beautify the earth ; and the flowers, in turn, must shed their perfume on the air, and the trees must spread their branches and give shelter from the noon-day sun and homes to the little songsters that dwell within their leafy homes.
Not for itself does the ever restless ocean roll and break upon the eternal shore :- deep, dark, unfathomable. It frowns upon the pigmy man who has dared to find a path across its trackless main ; nay, even old ocean holds within its unyielding palm the treasures of the deep, and the treasures of the sky, and these latter he yields to the ardent sun whose burning kiss upon his brow pleads for man, whom all creation honors.
O man 1 thine is the noblest part of all! Thou art the king and ruler of the earth-" its tongue, its sword, its life, its pulse, its heart "-forget not that thou must sustain thy part.
O wonderful race that since the day when Adam, fresh and beautiful, a divine emanation from the hand of God, gave to each
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NOT FOR MYSELF ALONE
created thing its name and part-since he stood, lord of all, within the Paradise of Eden-since he forfeited his birthright and passed out beneath the flaming sword of the wrathful angel, even to this day, when the world is transformed by his genius and all nations are as one-still is he king-still the ruler, glorious, compound, Godlike, and yet so human. So human that often he forgets his distant Home-so human that error sometimes smothers all remem- brance of it, even all belief. Absorbed with the gain and riches of the world, life slips away, and heaven, God, and all his teachings are ignored, forgotten! And sweetest, truest of those teachings is this : "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God, and thy neighbor as thyself." These words embody the whole sublime doctrine of self- sacrifice.
Give, that another's life may be sweeter ; work, that someone else may be happier ; smile, and crush thy sorrow, that others may not be saddened at thy pain-Oh ! they are countless, these many ways of self-forgetfulness ; as countless, as the opportunities to practice them are frequent. And difficult as they may seem, and often are, what were life without them ? It is the constant un- selfish sacrifices that are demanded of the mother and are so will- ingly given, that shed their halo round her name in after life, pre- vent so much of evil, achieve so much of good. It is only self-for- getfulness that makes home-life sweet and happy. It is only that which makes a character great, a hero famous. And love itself were not love, did not the heart prompt self-forgetfulness and devo- tion to something ideal, and revel in the very losing of itself. And the greater, the higher the object, the nobler and more heroic the sacrifice must be, until life itself is given and man can give no more-as life and love are given daily to God in the cloister ; as they were given in ages past at the stake or by the sword, or in whatever way and at whatever time Love demanded the sacrifice.
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