"And, in the centuries to come, when all things may be changed in this
our land, when we shall long have gone to dust, when our loved
cloisters may have crumbled into ruin; still the hills of Malvern will
stand, and the silvery Severn flow along the valley; while here, in
this very garden--if it be a garden still--the robin will build his
nest, and carol his happy song.
"Mark you this, dear Mary Antony: all things made by man hold within
them the elements of change and of decay. But nature is at one with
God, and therefore immutable. Earthly kingdoms may rise and wane;
mighty cities may spring up, then fall into ruin. Nations may conquer
and, in their turn, be conquered. Man may slay man and, in his turn,
be slain. But, through it all, the mountains stand, the rivers flow,
the forests wave, and the redbreast builds his nest in the hawthorn,
and warbles a love-song to his mate."
The Prioress rose and stretched wide her arms to the sunlit garden, to
the bough where the robin sang.
"Oh, to be one with God and with Nature!" she cried. "Oh, to know the
essential mysteries of Life and Light and Love! This is Life Eternal!"
She had forgotten the old lay-sister; aye, for the moment she had
forgotten the Convent and the cloister, the mile-long walk in darkness,
the chant of the unseen monks. She trod again the springy heather of
her youth; she heard the rush of the mountain stream; the sigh of the
great forest; the rustle of the sunlit glades, alive with, life.
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