Page:SermonsFromTheLatins.djvu/140

 with my  teeth  until  my  whole  head  Is  one  mass  of bleeding  wounds;  and  ever  and  anon  I  raise  my  voice in an  unearthly  cry  that  serves  only  to  curdle  my  own blood with  its  weird  horror. At last,  smothered  and exhausted, I  sink  down  in  stolid  despair  to  die. Buried alive — buried  soul  and  body — buried  when one little  puncture  of  the  skin  would  have  saved  me; lost perhaps  through  my  pet  vice,  for  which  I  sacrificed my  life  and  my  all;  abandoned  by  the  world  and my dearest  friends;  crazed  with  hunger  and  thirst, tortured in  every  sense;  mad  with  vain  regret  for what I  have  lost  and  lost  forever. O God,  the  cup  of my  bitterness  is  filled,  let  me  die. Ah, well  might  I say  with  my  last  breath:  "  Oh,  all  ye  that  pass  by  the way,  come  and  see  if  there  is,  or  ever  was,  woe  like to  my  woe." But a  damned  soul  may  answer  me from  hell:  "Alas!  multiply  your  miseries  ten  thousand times  and  even  then  they  will  fall  infinitely  short of  mine.  Could  I  change  places  with  you,  your  condition would  be  heaven  for  me  after  the  horrors  of  my present  abode.  I  am  buried  body  and  soul,  not  in the  cool  earth  with  a  rich  and  padded  casket  around me,  but  in  a  sea  of  fire  which  penetrates  my  very vitals.  I  am  not  alone  with  only  myself  to  wound and  my  own  yells  to  terrify  me,  but  I  am  in  the  midst of  loathsome  devils  who  cut  and  tear  me  limb  from limb,  and  terrify  me  with  howls,  compared  with which  the  yell  of  a  maniac  is  a  whisper.  I  have  lost, not  the  world,  but  God.  i  cannot  hope  for  death  to come  and  relieve  me,  for  I  seek  and  pursue  the demon  of  death  but  it  flies  from  me  and  mockingly