Pity us, dear Lord, pity us! The peace in believing which belonged to
other ages is not for us. Again Thy wounds are opened that we may know
whether it is the blood of one like ourselves which flows from them, or
whether it is a Divinity that is bleeding for His creatures. Wilt Thou
not take the doubt of Thy children whom the time commands to try all
things in the place of the unquestioning faith of earlier and
simpler-hearted generations? We too have need of Thee. Thy martyrs in
other ages were cast into the flames, but no fire could touch their
immortal and indestructible faith. We sit in safety and in peace, so far
as these poor bodies are concerned; but our cherished beliefs, the hopes,
the trust that stayed the hearts of those we loved who have gone before
us, are cast into the fiery furnace of an age which is fast turning to
dross the certainties and the sanctities once prized as our most precious
inheritance. You will understand me, my dear sir, and all my solicitudes
and apprehensions. Had I never been assailed by the questions that meet
all thinking persons in our time, I might not have thought so anxiously
about the risk of perplexing others. I know as well as you must that
there are many articles of belief clinging to the skirts of our time
which are the bequests of the ages of ignorance that God winked at.
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