20 March 2019
Consoling Thoughts From Father Faber
St. Joseph was like the mountain woods in the wet, weeping summer. They speak to heaven by their manifold fragrances, which yet make one woodland odour, like the many dialects of a rich language, as if the fresh, wind-driven drops beat the sensitive leaves of many hidden and sequestered plants, and so made them give out their perfumes, just as sorrow by its gentle bruising brings out hidden sweetness from all characters of men.
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