The words he addressed me then were the mildest and yet most powerful that ever roused the human heart to a sense of duty. But when he finally told me that though I had banished him whose presence was so dangerous to my soul, I must likewise banish his memory with equal resolution; that the recollections in which I still indulged without scruple ought to be resisted, overcome, rooted out, and rejected, I felt an insurmountable repugnance, and replied:
“No, father, I cannot do it.”
He again repeated, “Poor child!” and then said in a tone of mingled compassion and kindness:
“You are not willing, then, to give God the place he has a right to in your heart?”
I did not understand his meaning, and replied:
“Father, I cannot help what I think and feel, or what I suffer.”
Without losing anything of his mildness, but with an authority that subdued my rebellious spirit, he said:
“I know, my child, what is in your power, and what does not depend [pg 643] on your will; but in the name of Him who now speaks to you through me, I ask you to repeat with a sincere heart these words, which comprise all I have just said:
“O my God! root out of my heart everything that separates it from Thee.”
These words, the accent with which they were uttered, and the prayer that I have no doubt rose from the depths of the holy soul from which they sprang, inspired me with the wish and strength to obey.