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Jesu, keep them that be good, And amend them that have grieved thee, And send them fruits of early food, As each man needeth in his degree. Jesu, that art, without lies, Almighty God in trinity, Cease these wars, and send us peace With lasting love and charity.
She turned on him one more sweet look of love and submission, and put her pretty hands together in a prayer like a child. "Jesu!" This blessed word was her last. She lay with her eyes heavenwards, and her hands put together. Gerard prayed fervently for her passing spirit. And when he had prayed a long time with his head averted, not to see her last breath, all seemed unnaturally still.
Later, when her truth to her convictions led her to renounce the Christian belief, she carried into positivism the same religious earnestness, and wrote the one English hymn of the religion of humanity: O, let me join the choir invisible, etc. Her first published work was a translation of Strauss's Leben Jesu, 1846.
Suppose you do finish the job and hit the trail. Where would you go?" "The hills are full of pockets. We could hide and watch a chance to get out of the country." "We wouldn't have to hide. Jesu Cristo, who would know we did it?" chipped in Sebastian roughly. "Everybody will know it soon. You made a bad mistake when you didn't bump me off at the start.
The woman went to the door. She listened a moment and as the wail of a child sounded over the court she said, "Aye, sore weeping. Why, Jesu?" "Jael's father went away yester morning and hath not come again. A man saw him with many others driven in chains like cattle. A stain of blood was on his face and he will not come again. Why did the soldiers take Jael's father?" "Hist, child.
It is clear, from the numerous details of the life of St. Patrick, that he never encountered either temples or the statues of gods in any place, although occasional mention is made of idols. The only fact which startles the reader is the holy zeal which moved him to strike with his "baculus Jesu" the monstrous Crom Cruagh, with its twelve "sub-gods."
And over her grave were set up no sculptured figure and table tomb, only one slab of pure white marble, carved with a cross, and beneath it, the sole epitaph of Marguerite of Flanders, the heroine of Hennebon, "Mercy, Jesu!" So they left her to her rest. Ten years later, in a quiet Manor House near Furness Abbey, a knight's wife was telling a story to her three little girls.
"Jesu bless us," cried she, and crossed herself. "Where is your lady?" said the Baron again, in the same hoarse voice; and then, not waiting for an answer, "Is she dead?" The old woman looked at him for a minute blinking her watery eyes, and then suddenly broke into a shrill, long-drawn wail. The Baron needed to hear no more.
The boy looked up with eyes again grown unnaturally heavy, and said: "Amen!... Bon Jésu!... Encore! Encore, mon père!" The boy slept. The father stood still by the bed for a time, but at last slowly turned and went toward the fire.
What good did it her to touch them? How wis I? And could it make me fit to meet Him? But I can never kiss His feet. Yet methinks it were she, not He, which lacked it then. And He let her kiss His feet. O Christ Jesu! if in very deed it were in love for us that Thou barest death on the bitter rood, hast Thou no love left to welcome the dying sinner?
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