Those monks of the forested mountain heights, rambling for their herbs, know the blessedness to be found in mere breathing: a neighbour readiness to yield the breath inspires it the more.

For when we do not dread our end, the sense of a free existence comes back to us: we have the prized gift to infancy under the piloting of manhood.

But before we taste that happiness we must perform our penance; 'No living happiness can be for the unclean,' as the holy father preached to his flock of the monastery dispersing at matins.
Ay, but penance?
penance?
Is there not such a thing as the doing of penance out of the Church, in the manly fashion?
So to regain the right to be numbered among the captains of the world's fighting men, incontestably the best of comrades, whether or no they led away on a cataract leap at the gates of life.

Boldly to say we did a wrong will clear our sky for a few shattering peals.
The penitential act means, youth put behind us, and a steady course ahead.

But, for the keeping of a steady course, men made of blood in the walks of the world must be steadied.