The boy and the atheist

A handsome being, proclaiming himself an atheist, Was walking one day beside a young man Along the banks of a brook, where, casting shade, Plants shielded them from a strong sun. Upon seeing such pure water gush forth, His learned companion says to the youth: Where do you suppose, by chance, The whole valley will lead its course? The young man answers him: “Perhaps a lake Will gain the tribute of its waters, For at the end of bitter and aimless effort It is the crude end of all brooks.” Poor child! the master says, smiling, How deceived your being is;

Learn, then, that everything in the world comes to an end, Everything finishes in dying.

When it draws away from the spring, Where the threads of water go gushing, It is to find its end, at last, Forever terminating in the seas.

Such is the harsh image of us all; When we leave the dwelling of this world This is what then remains of a brief passage, We find ourselves before the void. Oh! My God! the youth says in a desolate voice, Is this the truth, then, such is our lot? What! And my mother, are we only ourselves, Will I have lost everything in her death? I who supposed that her dear soul Could protect her child, Share with her the sorrows of this life, Is it not my hope to have her near God? “Keep always with you the sweet belief.” The good angel whispers to him with kindness, Yes, good boy, may faith be immense to you, Without it, upon the Earth, where is happiness? And time ran out; years went by Our learned man at last disincarnated, Keeping himself faithful to his mad errors, He believed himself dead, saying he never found God. As for the boy, old age came to him And without fear he received death, For keeping the faith of childhood, In the hands of the Eternal Father his lot was redeemed. See what a multitude now hastily Leaves heaven to come receive him here; And of good Spirits a sacred troop That at last sees again an exiled brother. But who is that soul, alone and sad, Who strives at last to conceal himself? It is the being of the wretched learned man who watches it all Who sees everything and cannot mingle there. Very bitter was his sorrow, For having one day then denied God, God appears to him at last, not a judge who condemns, In sublimated majesty.

Oh! how much weeping by inheritance Came to break the hard arrogance of that soul! He who once had laughed at the hope Of a poor little youth beyond the grave. But the Lord’s paternal blessing Does not punish the sinner forever; Soon then the immortal soul He returns to the Earth with Love. In its turn purified, Into whose errors it no longer falls, Intoxicated with light and glory It goes to rest at the feet of the Eternal Father. Signed: Ducis.

[1]

See the note in the previous issue, on the Guardian Angel.