The Roman Gathering [pp. 191-200]

The- Roman Gatherinzg.
one unbroken strain of the martial
airs of England." That grand figure
of speech may be applied to the extent of the Catholic Church. Yet it
is not by martial airs, but by hymns
of praise and penitential orisons and
the continuous sacrifice that the
Catholic Church daily celebrates,
"from the rising of the sun unto the
going down of the same," the triumphant march of the Prince of Peace.
How like "the sound of many waters"
rolls hourly heavenward the anthems
of catholic worship throughout the
world! Not only is every moment
of every day consecrated by catholic
hymns sung somewhere on earth;
but how majestically roll down
through eighteen hundred years the
unbroken anthems of catholic devotion! Minute after minute, hour
after hour, day after day, night after
night, month after month, year after
year, century after century, the holy
strains go on unending. To the
mind's ear seem blended in one almost
overpowering flood of holy harmony
the unnumbered voices which have
sounded from the very hour when the
shepherds of Bethlehem heard the
angelic song to this very moment,
when, somewhere, catholic voices are
chanting praise to the Lord and Saviour of men.
And, in this view, how literally has
been fulfilled that consoling prophecy,
"Henceforth all generations shall call
me blessed." Wherever the Divine
Son has been duly honored, there
also she, who was remembered with
filial love even amid his dying agonies
for a world's salvation, has been remembered and called blessed; called
blessed from that lowly home and
from that mount of sorrow in the distant east, in millions of lowly homes,
and under the shadow of mountains
to the farthest west; called blessed
by millions of loving and imploring
voices through all the ages since;
called blessed in all the languages that
have been spoken since that time in
all the world; called blessed in the rudest forms of human speech and in the
most ecstatic music of voice and skill;
called blessed by the lips of the little child that can hardly speak the
name of mother, and by the lips that
tremble with age and sorrow; called
blessed by the sailor on the deep, by
the ploughman on the land, by the
scholar at his books, by the soldier
drawing his sword for right upon the
battle-field; called blessed by the
voices of peasant-girls singing in
sunny vineyards, and by the voices of
those from whose brows have flashed
the gemns of royal diadems; called
blessed in cottages and palaces, at
wayside shrines, and under the golden roofs of grand cathedrals; called
blessed in the hour of joy and in the
hour of anguish-in the strength and
beauty of life, and at the gates of
death. How long, how ardently, how
faithfully has all this loving honor
been paid for so many generations,
and will continue to be paid for all
generations to come, to that sorrowing yet benignant one, who bore him
who bore our woe!
The recent gathering at Rome indicates that there is no demand which
civilization can rightfully make of the
Christian Church which she will not
eagerly, fully, and faithfully meet. The
largest assemblage of professed ministers of Christ which this age has
known-leaving here out of view the
claims of the Catholic Church to an
apostolical priesthood-has been held
in Rome by the church, so extensively
proclaimed and derided as being behind the age. If there is life, deep,
full, pervading life anywhere on earth,
it is in the Catholic Church and in
all her movements. She will continue
to draw to herself all the qualities
and capacities of life which are in
harmony with her spirit; and this
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