Quæ obscura prius erant nobis plana faciens,
Tu de verbis Salvatoris dulcem panem conficis,
Et propinas potum vitæ de psalmorum nectare.
Tu de vita clericorum sanctam scribis regulam,
Quam qui amant et sequunter viam tenent regiam,
Atque tuo sancto ductu redeunt ad patriam.
Regi regum salis, vita, decus et emperium;
Trinitati laus et honor sit per omne sæculum,
Qui concives nos ascribat supernorum civium."[5]
As the sacred words were chanted, they mingled strangely in my mind with the ceremonies of the investiture. My hair was shorn with the clerical tonsure; my secular dress was laid aside; the garments of the novice were thrown on; and I was girded with the girdle of rope, whilst the prior murmured softly to me, that with the new robes I must put on the new man.
Then, as the last notes of the hymn died away, I knelt and bowed low to receive the prior's blessing, invoked in these words:—
"May God who hath converted this young man from the world, and given him a mansion in heaven, grant that his daily walk may be as becometh his calling; and that he may have cause to be thankful for what has this day been done."
Versicles were then chanted responsively by the monks, who, forming in procession, moved towards the choir, where we all prostrated ourselves in silent prayer.
After this they conducted me to the great hall of the cloister, where all the brotherhood bestowed on me the kiss of peace.
Once more I knelt before the prior, who reminded me that he who persevereth to the end shall be saved; and gave me over to the direction of the preceptor, whom the new Vicar-General Staupitz has ordered to be appointed to each novice.
Thus the first great ceremony of my monastic life is over, and it has left me with a feeling of blank and disappointment. It has made no change that I can feel in my heart. It has not removed the world further off from me. It has only raised another impassable barrier between me and all that was dearest to me;—impassable as an ocean without ships, infrangible as the strongest iron, I am determined my will shall make it; but to my heart, alas! thin as gossamer, since every faintest, wistful tone of love, which echoes from the past, can penetrate it and pierce me with sorrow.