Activate Javascript or update your browser for the full Digital Library experience.
Previous Page
–
Next Page
OCR
ee ee
ok ae
ere ey eyes opr pare et
182 CONEWAGO—A COLLECTION OF
disappointing stream, are unquestionably surpassed in natural beauty by the
English valleys of the Severn or the Wye; but art, inspired by the Catholic re-
ligion, has raised that dome and tower in the Tuscan plain, and crowned the
hills which encircle it with those beautiful convents which Michael Angelo
used to regard with rapture. How hideous would be the range of the Ap-
penines, if it were not for Camaldoli and Alvernia! Who would be attached
to Sienna, if it were not for its cathedral and Gothic towers! and what pil-
grim from the North would be attracted to Ancona by the scenery of that
level shore of the Adriatic, if it were not for the hope of arriving at the house
of our Blessed Lady.”? Though fair and fertile the Valley of the Conewago,
it is surpassed in extent by that of the Cumberland, and in abrupt and ever-
changing scenery by the valleys of the Potomac and the Shenandoah ; but
the Church of the Sacred Heart fills the mind of the Catholic with thoughts
of the early missionaries, and his own pioneer forefathers uf the faith in days”
of Colonial hardships and persecutions ; it touches his heart by the dearest
memories there cherished for time ; and raising it to heavenly desires, car-
ries him back over the pathway of the Catholic Church to the fountain-head
of all that we have in this world or hope for in the next.
Though the fields may be green and the harvests rich ;—though man be
in the enjoyment of all the comforts and pleasures of life, health and wealth ;
there ure times when his soul complains and will not be satisfied. ‘t With-
out an altar. not the shade of the lofty groves, not the soft meadows, not the
stroam descending from the rocks, and clearer than crystal, winding through
the plain, can satisfy the soul of man. Left in the presence of nature alone,
it faints and becomes like eurth without the dew of heaven : it is oppressed
by the contemplation of that vast immensity ; it loses its tranquility and its
joy. Man in himself can find no rest or peace ; and how should he find re-
pose in the works of nature, when these themselves are forever restless ?
The fire mounts in a perpetual course, always flickering and impatient ; the
air is agitated with conflicting winds, and susceptible of the least impulse ;
the water hurries on, and knows no peace ; and even this ponderous and
solid earth, with its rocks and mountains, endures an unceasing process of
disintegration, and is ever.on the change.”
‘* Even to the mere poetic soul, what a delightful accompaniment to the
silent hymn of nature, is that chiming of angelus bells which rises at even-
ing and at noon, and at the sweet hour of prime, from all sides of a Catholic
valley ?—bells that may well be termed of the angel ; that are not rung, as
in other lands, by base hands, through love of sordid gain, to celebrate
some occasion of sensual joy, temporal and vain, soon to change to mourn-
ing as vain ; but by pious hands, through the devout intention of inspiring
men with thoughts of prayer.”’
After all our efforts to arrange some kind of a history of Conewago,
many things yet remain that might be worthy of preservation. Some ac-
count could be given of the many humble and holy lives that were passed
unseen by the hurrying crowds of the world, but what cares the world for
such ? Cold and ungrateful are even our best friends ; those who were near-
est and dearest to the Fathers in life, it grieves us to say, are found most in-
different to their memories after they have passed away. At most, it will
only be a few years until others take our places. Life is too short and busy
to have much thought except for the present. Why then any further record ?