It was always done on earth, but the ignoble, the inglorious, the small put their petty obstacles in its way, and delayed the coming of the kingdom.... Men grew engrossed in their affairs, grew self-sufficient. A little money in their pockets, and God was forgotten. A little more and they despised their fellow-men, and hatred arose. And evil wars came, and years were lost.... Cunning men put the emotions, the ideals, the actions of glorious men up for barter.... And the men who were tricked brooded.... And the cunning men took the land and the waters and the light, and worked tortuously until they could sell them at a price.... And the things God had made for his people were the means to procure these dark folk wine and mistresses and the state of kings.... Such was not the doing of the Will.... But one day it would be worked out by men how these things could not ever again be.... The slow certain coming of the kingdom....
"As it is in heaven ..."
From the green resting-place came all that was sweet and harmonious, the shape of clouds, the high spirit of horses, the loyalty of dogs, the graceful movement swans have, and the song of the lesser birds. From that green resting-place came the gold of the gorse, and the sweet line of trees, and the purple the heather has—the loved heather. Thence came the word that set the friendly moon on high, and put out the white beauty of the young and alternated sunshine with the rains of spring. All was done there according to wisdom and beauty.
"Give us this day our daily bread ..."
That was no whine for the prisoner's dole. That was the simplicity of asking that the moon and the sun still rise. Give beauty to women, and grace to children, and songs for poets to sing. Let not the green tree wither, but send it rain. And give a little softness to the hearts of callous men. And remind us that widows live, and that there are fatherless. Teach us how to heal sickly children, and be easy on horses. And give us gentleness. And when roses grow on the walls in June, put a bud in our hearts....
"And forgive us our trespasses ..."
The picture that came into Shane's mind then was not the picture of an abased man beating his breast, but the thought of a mature man clanging through the halls of heaven past every guard until he came where wisdom and beauty was, and standing and throwing back his head: "I have done wrong," he would say, "rotten wrong, and I'm wretched about it." And there would be an answer: "You did right to come."
"As we forgive those who trespass against us ..."
Ah! That was hard! That was the most difficult thing in the world, the Celt in Shane knew. The horripilation of the skin, the twitching nostrils, the feeling for the knife in the armpit.... When one was young, the careless word, the savage blow, the brooding feud.... But men grew better with the increase of the years, and with maturity came the sense that not every one could insult or hurt a man. The jibes and trespasses of petty people meant so little, and one sensed the Destiny, the strange veiled One, balanced in His own wise time the evil done a man with unexpected good.... One grew wiser even yet with the years and knew that a great wrong was outside one's personal jurisdiction.... One had to leave that to the broad justice of the High God.... One could appeal there, as with the old cri de haro of Norman low.... Haro! haro! A l'aide, mon prince. On me fait tort! Hither! Hither! Help me, my king; one dropped on one's knees in the market-place: I am being injured overmuch! And it was the prince's duty to help feal men.... To forgive trespasses—only one understood in maturity, one grew to it.... The strong and wise were the meek, not the weaklings ... the men who knew that justice was absolute ... the men with the calm eyes and the grim smile, they were the terrible meek....
"And lead us not into temptation ..."