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a sign—one little sign, O Lord!—I will not see her. I have
sworn it. Thou knowest my grief— my agony—my despair.
Thou knowest why I love her. Thou knowest how I strive to
make her hate me. Is that not a sacrifice? I am so lonely— a
lonely man, with but one creature that he loves—yet, what
is mortal love to Thee? Cruel and implacable, Thou sittest
in the heavens men have built for Thee, and scornest them!
Will not all the burnings and slaughters of the saints ap-
pease Thee? Art Thou not sated with blood and tears, O God
of vengeance, of wrath, and of despair! Kind Christ, pity
me. Thou wilt—for Thou wast human! Blessed Saviour, at
whose feet knelt the Magdalen! Divinity, who, most divine
in Thy despair, called on Thy cruel God to save Thee—by
the memory of that moment when Thou didst deem Thyself
forsaken—forsake not me! Sweet Christ, have mercy on Thy
sinful servant.
I can write no more. I will pray to Thee with my lips. I
will shriek my supplications to Thee. I will call upon Thee
so loud that all the world shall hear me, and wonder at Thy
silence—unjust and unmerciful God!
December 14th.—What blasphemies are these which I
have uttered in my despair? Horrible madness that has left
me prostrate, to what heights of frenzy didst thou not drive
my soul! Like him of old time, who wandered among the
tombs, shrieking and tearing himself, I have been possessed
by a devil. For a week I have been unconscious of aught save
torture. I have gone about my daily duties as one who in
his dreams repeats the accustomed action of the day, and
knows it not. Men have looked at me strangely. They look

0 For the Term of His Natural Life