Irish Jesuit Province

ForgivenessAuthor(s): John AtkinsonSource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 16, No. 181 (Jul., 1888), p. 432Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20497765 .

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432 nte rris/i Aonikijp.

my fascinating neighbouirs have, with a grace and friendliness entirely their own, laid unmerciful toll on my pantry and kitchen. They almost always return sooner or later what they borrow, anid would, I doubt not, be deliglhted to share whatever they have in stock with me ; but even if I were disposedl to reg,ard them, as they

do me, as a kind of co-operative store, I am afraid I should gene

rally find them quite " out of " the usual commoodities. Since we

have been neighbours, we lhave each had a serious illness in the house, and great has been the interest tlhe invalid excited next door. If we suipplied vinegar, clotlh pegs, candles, &c., for bothll, did they not offer us their incomnparablo nurse, ancd beseeclh of us to call in their skilful physician? " I do wish you would have

Dr. ,' said my neighbour; "ho is a jewel. He wouldn't let

you die if you wanted to." Our eastern neighbour neither lhelps uls, as does our incompar

able vis-d-vis, nor makes such deimandIs on our larder as the

Bohemians on the west-in fact, wo are not even on bowing terms, for they made no advanices when we camelo niext door. But they are

not without their use; and in tlho uinfrienldly attitude they have

adopted, they point out, like sigiposts wvhich show the road with

out travelling by it, the duty and necessity of being " pleasant

neighbours," as far as we know how. S.TG. D

FORGIVENESS.

I LOVEI) him well. For he was unito me

More than a brother. On hiis kindly broast

Laying my head by weary thoughts deprest,

Our souls were mixed as rivers in tlhe sea.

He wronged me once; and, never mnore could plea

Of wealkness, or of moody tlhoughts or jest,

Avail for pardon, till his soul had rest

Whero nought of ranceur nor of spito may be.

D)ear Lord, what bitter tears mnine eyes have wept

For this miy cruelty of heated youth!

Thee only, unprovoked, with scanty ruth

I've wronged a thousand times, and yet again;

Still never unforgiven in death have slopt,

But lived to feel Thy love and give Thee pain.

Jont ATKINSONt.

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