THE CLOSE OF THE EUCHARISTIC CONGRESS

Stratford Evening Post, Volume II, Issue 21, 17 August 1932, Page 6

THE CLOSE OF THE EUCHARISTIC CONGRESS

DESCRIPTION OF SCENE j BY FAMOUS WRITER MR. H. V. MORTON STATES j HIS IMPRESSIONS The following description of the closing- scenes at the Kucha. ristic Congress is from the pen of Mr. H. V. Morton, the brilliant author of "In Search of . - land," jjllh J Search of Scotland," "In ISeareh of! Ireland" and "In Search pE| Wales,." DUBLIN, July 26.—1 tis one o'clock. The greatest crowd I have ever seen kneels in Phoenix Park and watches the representatives of the Pope robe for the sublime mystery of the Mass. Ort an altar, set under a great white shrine, burn the six candles of pure wax ordained for Pontifical High Mass. Facing the altar, and below it on the steps leading up to it, are 36 officers of the Free State Army with drawn swords. Beneath the pillared colonnade that swings out from the altar in a wide semi-circle sit hundreds, of arch, bishops and bishops in silk robes of violet. Flanking the altar are two crimson canopies, and under thester— five on either side—are ten ■cardinals fin robes of scarlet. The Mystic Act But all eyes are fixed on the white throne to the right of the altar, where Cardinal Lauri, the Papal Legate, performs the ceremony which every priest performs before he colebales the mystic act which, us all Catholics believe, brings him face to face with the Redeemer. First his long cardinal gown is drawn over his head. The Legate stands up clothed in a white under. gown. Attendant priests,' surround )him. They kneel before him. One by one they bring symbolic vestments, which take the mind back down the centuries to the days when men who had spoken with Christ, walked the earth. So the representative of the Pope stands before the mightiest crowd oi worshippers Ireland, has ever known. robed for Mass as centuries of ritual, beginning with St. Peter, ordain that he shall be robed. To understand the emotion of this* moment you must turn fnem the altar and look at the crowd. Pattern of Faces It is a crowd so vast that it lies over a square mile of parkland, hiding every blade of grass. It, is a dark, tattered carpet of a crowd. A carpet a mile square, picked out with-a pale pattern that i s hundreds -of thousands of human faces brightened with countless specks ol red and blue which are the clothes of women. How great is it? No one can say. It may be three-quarters of a million. It may be a million. It may be even more than a million. It is impossible to calculate buch a crowd. All' I can say about it is that no crowd quite like it has ever been seen in our time. 1400-years.old Beli

So great is the awed silence of this incredible, hosti fes it watches the white throne, that you can hear a bird singing among the trees and the wild cries of gulls that have come from the coast and wheel above the altar. Hundreds of thousands of these men and women have nothing in the world but their- faith. .Some of them have tramped the long roads from the West of Ireland with all the food they will eat this week-end tied up in an old handkerchief. Dublin is to many of them a greater adventure than America. Thousands of these pilgrims are dead with fatigue. They have walked about the streets of Dub_ lin all night. Nothing on earth but the presence of the Cardinal whom the Pope has sent from Rome would have induced many of these wild-eyed Gaels to adventure so far tP the East. To the unsophisticated members of this gathering, the sight of the Papal Legale is a revelation. In his presence, by virtue of his office and authority, they link their humble lives with the sacred presence of Cod's Vicar. And in the awe and reverence which they show for this great priest of tbe Church is the feeling that they draw near also to Our Lord. It is the most holy moment they will ever know, and the memory of if will not die with them. The million voices are hushed, the million men and women kneel, and the Cardinal Legate moves up to the altar where the six candles burn above a golden chalice.

A man in the scarlet uniform of a Papal count walks over to the choir. lie i s Count McCormack, Ireland's famous singer. Divine Voice A voice that might have heen given by heaven for this moment rises in the exquisite music of the Panis Angelicas. All the true and lovely things in the heart of men, all the worship ami reverence, all the sorrow and all! the repenteuce and gratitude go up to| the sky. In deal silence this man, who has in some way torn the heart out of a multitude' and offered it in music to the Creator, walks hack to his place. The Cardinal Legate, kneeling before the altar and lifting hie eyes to Heaven, makes the sign of the cross over the Host. Incense rises around him. He hends his head again. The most holy moment has come. Suddenly across the dead silence of a million men and women, who kneel on the grass in unshakable he. lief that they kneel in the actual presence of God, comes a strange and indescribable scund. At first 1 think it is like something muffled and dug in a cave by the sea. It is a hollow sound. It is an old sound. It is the sound of St. Patrick's Mass hell "telling Irishmen, after its centuries of silence, that Christ has come among them. The sound comes three times. It is the very sound that so long ago in that lovely April of faith when Patrick flung down the heathen gods drew Irishmen to his little chapel. It is the hell that, as legend says, the saint took with him to Croagh Patrick when he wrestled with demons.

1400 Years Ago It is the bell that was buried with him in the year Uil. It is the sound of the bell that Lite samt vvlnum the

West adores, Columcille, or Coiumba, took years afterwards to St. Patrick s tomb. And now it is ringing tor Mass again, not only in Dublin, not only in Ireland, but all over the world. The sound of St. Patrick's bell is in the waves of the air. Men in distant lauds can bear it by radio. It crosses the sea with the speed ol thought. It rings' across continents, and the message it gives to the world today is the message it gave to Ireland 1400 years ago. At the sound of it, the armed mfcn round the altar spring to attention; trumpeters blow a fanfare. Tbe ofti. cei's ,lit't their drawn swords in salute, holding them towards the H)cst.

The square mile of humanity on its knees covers its eyes unci bends in prayer. There is no Catholic in the immense crowd who does not believe that he is in the presence of God. A movement like a ripple runs across the crowd. It js the Sign of the Cross. Such moments cannot hist long. With the music of St. Patrick's bell still in its ear*, the crowd looks again towards the altar. 'The priest sent by the Pope to Ireland as another Pope in another time sent'St. Patrick as his emissary and represenative, moves forward to give the Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. . in this hush I can hear a. bird singing, and 1 hope that the sound of its voice went out over the world with the sound of St. Patrick's bell.

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