“Some have called my work witchcraft.”
“I don’t care, since I know better. Make me a Balsamite, now, please?”
“So be it, child. Put thy hand on thy heart and repeat: ‘I promise my Merciful Father always to show heartfelt kindness to all His creatures, especially those in misery, because of His everlasting goodness toward myself.’”
“I promise that gladly. Is that all?”
“Yes; thy badge, a sprig of the evergreen balm-shrub, shall teach thee the rest.”
“Teach me the rest?”
“Puzzled again, child? Well, I’ll teach thee, and the shrub shall recall my lessons. As thou dost learn to love nature, as thou wilt when getting back to a more child-like faith, nature will talk to thee all the time. See, this is unfading; so is mercy. When torrid suns make the shrub suffer, it sweats or weeps these healing gums. Trials make all good souls fruitful. Then see, this little shrub gives to the world all it receives, transforming its earthy nourishments, sunshines and showers, into a medicament for sufferers. It is a type of the All-Giver. It has but three flowers, and I read in these the signature of a Triune God. This thou wilt, perhaps, read some time for thyself, when thou hast learned the mystery of the Unspeakable Gift.”
“My father, your wisdom is very beautiful.”
“Would, my child, that my words ever be to thee as the nuts of this little evergreen emblem, though rough-coated, still filled with liquid of honey sweetness.”