“Pray, pray, Sir that God may not take me in my sins.”

I was turning a corner to escape some pleasant comments made on my own personal appearance, when a man in a frightful hurry ran full tilt against me. “What the devil -” I was just saying, when he stopped me. “I most humbly beg your pardon, Sir,” he said, “if I have hurt you.” “Never mind, my poor fellow,” I said, as I saw him wipe the blood from his nose; “but you were in a mighty hurry. What’s up?” “It’s my wife that’s dying, sir,” he said,”and I was flying for the priest and doctor.” He could not go much further now. He was bleeding profusely. “Look here,” I said with a sudden impulse, “let me know where you live, and I will do all in my power for her until you return.” “You Sir,” he cried, looking me all over,” what would the likes of you be doing in such a place?” “Never mind,” I said, “I suppose there are some women with her. And I may be of some assistance.” “There’s no one with her, Sir,” he said, “but the great God.” “Then all the more necessary,” I cried, ” for some one to keep her company till you return. Now, come along, and show me the way.” He led me through narrow streets, dimly lighted, then turned suddenly through an archway into a yard. We entered a dark stable together, and climbing a rough ladder, we found ourselves in a room, with open rafters across the roof, and absolutely devoid of all furniture, if we except the straw on which the young dying mother lay. Close beside her, and covered with only a piece of torn flannel, was the dead child, a waxen bambino, sent from God that night to symbolise to this wretched pair, some lofty mystery, beyond their comprehension, but not beyond their faith. All around the floor was wet and I pointed it out. “Yes,” the poor fellow answered,”the mother insisted that I should baptize the child; and she gave me directions.” The young mother lay back on the straw pallet, wondering, and dreaming who the stranger was. “The doctor?” She faintly whispered. “No. He is coming.” Her face was very white; her lips whiter. The Angel of death hung over her. I knelt down and put water on her lips. “Is the Priest coming?” “Yes, he’ll be here soon.” “Pray, pray, Sir, that God may not take me in my sins.” I did. Nay, I went farther. I took up her beads and whispered the Rosary, bead by bead in her ear. I ransacked my memory, and thought of every sweet prayer that had ever softened my heart in the days when – well, never mind; and I repeated, I suppose twenty times, the marvellous prayer of St. Bernard known as the “memorare”. I sang through the glorious Litanies, and sent acts of charity throbbing through her ears. And when the priest arrived, and I retired to make way for him, she murmured – “May God bless you, Sir, and never forget this night’s work for you!” Was I rewarded? Yes, a hundred fold. I went down into the darkness of the stable and thought – “Now, Goff, supposing that you had poured into that dying woman’s ears, all that you ever read from greek poets and philosophers, what consolation would it have brought to her? What mockery, wicked and inhuman, would your unintelligible jargon have appeared to her! One ‘Our Father’ is a million times better than all the heavy, undiluted speculations of academical loungers and cloistered dilettanti!” The Priest came slowly down the rough ladder, the husband of the dying woman holding the lantern over his head. He looked strangely at me… “If I had,” he said, “a hundred young fellows like you in my district, I would soon stamp out vice and misery. Imagine, I have a population of five thousand souls in my district to look after. Why, the thing is an impossibility. And no help, no succour, no assistance of any kind. And people have no idea of what we have to contend against. Everything is against us! Human nature, organized vice, ignorance, music halls – pah! I am often tempted to fling up the whole thing in despair. But give me a hundred young fellows like you, full of faith and piety, I would revolutionize this city in 12 months.” ( Culled from “Triumph of Failure” by Canon Sheehan D.D.)