第53部分(第3/7 頁)

transformation　over　the　heart　of　the　family。　The　heart　that　was

big　with　joy；　that　had　seen　the　star　and　had　followed　to　the

inner　walls　of　the　Nativity；　that　there　had　swooned　in　the　great

light；　must　now　feel　the　light　slowly　withdrawing；　a　shadow

falling；　darkening。　The　chill　crept　in；　silence　came　over　the

earth；　and　then　all　was　darkness。　The　veil　of　the　temple　was

rent；　each　heart　gave　up　the　ghost；　and　sank　dead。

They　moved　quietly；　a　little　wanness　on　the　lips　of　the

children；　at　Good　Friday；　feeling　the　shadow　upon　their　hearts。

Then；　pale　with　a　deathly　scent；　came　the　lilies　of

resurrection；　that　shone　coldly　till　the　forter　was

given。

But　why　the　memory　of　the　wounds　and　the　death？　Surely　Christ

rose　with　healed　hands　and　feet；　sound　and　strong　and　glad？

Surely　the　passage　of　the　cross　and　the　tomb　was　forgotten？　But

no……always　the　memory　of　the　wounds；　always　the　smell　of

grave…clothes？　A　small　thing　was　Resurrection；　pared　with　the

Cross　and　the　death；　in　this　cycle。

So　the　children　lived　the　year　of　christianity；　the　epic　of

the　soul　of　mankind。　Year　by　year　the　inner；　unknown　drama　went

on　in　them；　their　hearts　were　born　and　came　to　fulness；　suffered

on　the　cross；　gave　up　the　ghost；　and　rose　again　to　unnumbered

days；　untired；　having　at　least　this　rhythm　of　eternity　in　a

ragged；　inconsequential　life。

But　it　was　being　a　mechanical　action　now；　this　drama：

birth　at　Christmas　for　death　at　Good　Friday。　On　Easter　Sunday

the　life…drama　was　as　good　as　finished。　For　the　Resurrection　was

shadowy　and　overe　by　the　shadow　of　death；　the　Ascension　was

scarce　noticed；　a　mere　con