"For what could we do for him after all? He had not sinned against any of us. He had not sinned in such a way that his crime could be atoned for by punishment. He had sinned against a sacred custom, and we had no power to grant him absolution. Moreover, we seemed to feel that God had condemned him as we ourselves had done.
"And so, while he was striving to help his fellow men upward in life, I can imagine Death standing behind his chair, leering scornfully at him, knowing the man was in his power, was his prisoner and could not escape. Who was there in all the world that could deliver him?"
Sven Elversson noticed that Mor Thala was crying. He himself felt, as he listened to the preacher's words, as if he were living over again all his past efforts to regain the goodwill of his fellows, but he did not weep. He stood there with untroubled eyes and easy bearing, and looked the speaker in the face.
"But now, of late," went on the Pastor, "we have seen that Death has gained more power in the world even than before. He rules over us and oppresses us. He reaps his harvest before the time. He takes violence and cruelty to his aid. He lets loose crime and evildoing. There is no misdeed he does not suffer on earth, and we can see no end to his power.
"And now that we are suffering under the harsh tyranny of Death, we begin to ask: Is there, then, nothing on earth strong enough to take up arms against Death?
"And we know that there is but one thing on earth that dares to resist the power of Death—the constant, unflinching enemy of Death—and that is Life.
"And in the midst of this war, when dreadful things are done, such as the shipwreck of tens of thousands at sea as if it were a trifle, the sending of tens of thousands into captivity as if it were nothing to speak of, the slaughter of tens of thousands at the cannon's mouth as if it were a praiseworthy deed, the driving forth of tens of thousands from their homes as if it were but a natural and customary thing—in the midst of all this, I still believe that there is growing up amongst us a greater love of life than we had known before.
"For Life, Life has been only the poor handmaiden at the service of all, asking nothing for itself. Life has been just the daily bread that was eaten, as it were, without a thought. There was nothing solemn about Life, to be painted in pictures and hovering as a ghost in the gloom. Life has not even any form or figure of its own whereby we may know it.
"Now you may think," the speaker broke off, turning more directly to his listeners, "that I am speaking empty words, seeing that all of us well know Life is the thing we love most of all. But, my friends, it is not enough that we love Life. Life, I would say, is like a child ill-cared for. It may be brought up with more love than understanding, to be a shame and a thorn in the flesh, until we hardly know how to bear with it.
"Or, my friends, we may liken Life to a young bride, whom we take into our house and give all our love. But this is not enough. We must surround her also with peace and holiness, and give her her due and show her kindliness; if not, then the young wife will forsake us, and leave us to loneliness and despair, because the ways whereby we would have led her were not the true ways.