Anguish, despair, devotion, submission, elevation! Ah, how the lofty
Gothic arches thundered! How they sighed and cried and melted. The
great assembly was swayed, awe-struck, like branches of forest trees in
gales or in zephyrs. The influence of those melodies will not die. Oh!
Rome is old, Rome is new; Rome is wise. Rome is the Solomon of the
Churches.
Mark this well. The Cardinal is dead. What happens? Does the machinery
stagger? Has a great and irreparable calamity fallen on the churches?
Are any plans abandoned? Is the policy affected? Will aggression cease?
Nothing happens but a great and imposing funeral. The plans are not
affected. The lines do not waver. No work begun will be suspended.
Everything goes on. If only a deacon should die out of some Baptist
church, alas! my brethren, the plate returns empty to the altar. The
minister puts on his hat. Consternation jumps on the ridge-pole and
languishing, settles down. When shall we learn? When shall we plan
harmoniously, unite our counsels, work within the lines, cease wasting
resources, carry forward a common work, and when some man falls, put a
new man in his place, move up the line, and keep step? To-day, when a
gap is made here, we try to mend it, after a time, by seeking how great
a gap we can create somewhere else.
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