e man of God. Behind them paced
Warriors and chiefs; Osthryda last, the Queen,
With face whereon that great miraculous light,
By her all night unseen, appeared to rest,
And foot that might have trod the ocean waves
Unwetted save its palm. A shrine gem-wrought
Received the royal relics. O'er them drooped
Northumbria's standard, guest of Mercian airs
Through which it once had sailed, a portent dire:
And whosoe'er in after centuries knelt
On Oswald's grave, and, praying, wooed his prayer,
Departed, in his heart the peace of God,
Passions corrupt expelled, and demon snares,
Irreverent love, and anger past its bound.

_HOW SAINT CUTHBERT KEPT HIS PENTECOST AT CARLISLE._

Saint Cuthbert while a boy wanders among the woods of Northumbria,
bringing solace to all. Later he lives alone in the island of
Farne. Being made bishop, many predict that he will be able neither
to teach his people nor to rule his diocese. His people flock to
him gladly, but require that he should teach them by parable and
tale. This he does, and likewise rules his diocese with might. He
discourses concerning common life. Keeping his Pentecost at
Carlisle, he preaches on that Feast and the Resurrection from the
Dead. Herbert, an eremite, beseeching him that the two may die the
same day, he prays accordingly, and they die the same hour.

Saint Cuthbert, yet a youth, for many a year
Walked up and down the green Northumbrian vales
Well loving God and man. The rockiest glens
And promontories shadowing loneliest seas,
Where lived the men least cared for, most forlorn,
He sought, and brought to each the words of peace.
Where'er he went he preached that God all Love;
For, as the sun in heaven, so flamed in him
That love which later fired Assisi's Saint:
Yea, rumour ran that every mountain beast
Obeyed his loving call; that when all night
He knelt upon the frosty hills in prayer,
The hare would couch her by his naked feet
And warm them with her fur. To manhood grown,
He dwelt in Lindisfarne; there, year by year,
Prospering yet more in vigil and in fast;
And paced its shores by night, and blent his hymns
With din of waves. Yet ofttimes o'er the strait
He passed, once more in search of suffering men,
Wafting them solace still. Where'er he went,
Those loved as child