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Sunday at Home by Nathaniel Hawthorne download in iPad, ePub, pdf

It must suffice, that, though my form be absent, my inner man goes constantly to church, while many, whose bodily presence fills the accustomed seats, have left their souls at home. But I am there, even before my friend, the sexton. By dwelling near a church, a person soon contracts an attachment for the edifice.

Through Our Sunday Visitor Institute, they carry out their mission to help people bring their Catholic faith to life. My heart, perhaps, has not such holy, nor, I would fain trust, such impious potency. The hustle of the rising congregation reaches my ears. There is a moral, and a religion too, even in the silent walls. But the steeple stands foremost, in our thoughts, as well as locally.

For six days more, there will be no face of man in the pews, and aisles, and galleries, nor a voice in the pulpit, nor music in the choir. It impresses us as a giant, with a mind comprehensive and discriminating enough to care for the great and small concerns of all the town. Let me dream that the angels, who came down from heaven, this blessed morn, to blend themselves with the worship of the truly good, are playing and singing their farewell to the earth. Our Sunday Visitor is one of the largest Catholic publishers in the world.

My heart perhapsThrough Our Sunday Visitor Institute they

Methinks, though the same sun brightens it every fair morning, yet the steeple has a peculiar robe of brightness for the Sabbath. Hourly, while it speaks a moral to the few that think, it reminds thousands of busy individuals of their separate and most secret affairs. About a quarter of an hour before the second ringing of the bell, individuals of the congregation begin to appear. As the minister passes into the church, the bell holds its iron tongue, and all the low murmur of the congregation dies away. We rely solely on donations from our parishioners to continue.

The Sabbath eve is the eve of love. We will say more of this, hereafter. The strain has ceased, but prolongs itself in my mind, with fanciful echoes, till I start from my revery, and find that the sermon has commenced. Yet, it lifted my soul higher than all their former strains. It is my misfortune seldom to fructify, in a regular way, by any but printed sermons.