(Augustine, Confessions. part 12)

And when shall we succeed?  But if I chose to become a friend of
God, see, I can become one now." Thus he spoke, and in the pangs
of the travail of the new life he turned his eyes again onto the
page and continued reading; he was inwardly changed, as thou didst
see, and the world dropped away from his mind, as soon became
plain to others.  For as he read with a heart like a stormy sea,
more than once he groaned.  Finally he saw the better course, and
resolved on it.  Then, having become thy servant, he said to his
friend: "Now I have broken loose from those hopes we had, and I am
determined to serve God; and I enter into that service from this
hour in this place.  If you are reluctant to imitate me, do not
oppose me." The other replied that he would continue bound in his
friendship, to share in so great a service for so great a prize.
So both became thine, and began to "build a tower", counting the
cost -- namely, of forsaking all that they had and following
thee.[256]  Shortly after, Ponticianus and his companion, who had
walked with him in the other part of the garden, came in search of
them to the same place, and having found them reminded them to
return, as the day was declining.  But the first two, making known
to Ponticianus their resolution and purpose, and how a resolve had
sprung up and become confirmed in them, entreated them not to take
it ill if they refused to join themselves with them.  But
Ponticianus and his friend, although not changed from their former
course, did nevertheless (as he told us) bewail themselves and
congratulated their friends on their godliness, recommending
themselves to their prayers.  And with hearts inclining again
toward earthly things, they returned to the palace.  But the other
two, setting their affections on heavenly things, remained in the
cottage.  Both of them had affianced brides who, when they heard
of this, likewise dedicated their virginity to thee.

                          CHAPTER VII

     16.  Such was the story Ponticianus told.  But while he was
speaking, thou, O Lord, turned me toward myself, taking me from
behind my back, where I had put myself while unwilling to exercise
self-scrutiny.  And now thou didst set me face to face with
myself, that I might see how ugly I was, and how crooked and
sordid, bespotted and ulcerous.  And I looked and I loathed
myself; but whither to fly from myself I could not discover.  And
if I sought to turn my gaze away from myself, he would continue
his narrative, and thou wouldst oppose me to myself and thrust me
before my own eyes that I might discover my iniquity and hate it.
I had known it, but acted as though I knew it not -- I winked at
it and forgot it.
     17.  But now, the more ardently I loved those whose wholesome
affections I heard reported -- that they had given themselves up
wholly to thee to be cured -- the more did I abhor myself when
compared with them.  For many of my years -- perhaps twelve -- had
passed away since my nineteenth, when, upon the reading of
Cicero's Hortensius, I was roused to a desire for wisdom.  And
here I was, still postponing the abandonment of this world's
happiness to devote myself to the search. For not just the finding
alone, but also the bare search for it, ought to have been
preferred above the treasures and kingdoms of this world; better
than all bodily pleasures, though they were to be had for the
taking.  But, wretched youth that I was -- supremely wretched even
in the very outset of my youth -- I had entreated chastity of thee
and had prayed, "Grant me chastity and continence, but not yet."
For I was afraid lest thou shouldst hear me too soon, and too soon
cure me of my disease of lust which I desired to have satisfied
rather than extinguished.  And I had wandered through perverse
ways of godless superstition -- not really sure of it, either, but
preferring it to the other, which I did not seek in piety, but
opposed in malice.
     18.  And I had thought that I delayed from day to day in
rejecting those worldly hopes and following thee alone because
there did not appear anything certain by which I could direct my
course.  And now the day had arrived in which I was laid bare to
myself and my conscience was to chide me: "Where are you, O my
tongue?  You said indeed that you were not willing to cast off the
baggage of vanity for uncertain truth.  But behold now it is
certain, and still that burden oppresses you.  At the same time
those who have not worn themselves out with searching for it as
you have, nor spent ten years and more in thinking about it, have
had their shoulders unburdened and have received wings to fly
away." Thus was I inwardly confused, and mightily confounded with
a horrible shame, while Ponticianus went ahead speaking such
things.  And when he had finished his story and the business he
came for, he went his way.  And then what did I not say to myself,
within myself?  With what scourges of rebuke did I not lash my
soul to make it follow me, as I was struggling to go after thee?
Yet it drew back.  It refused.  It would not make an effort.  All
its arguments were exhausted and confuted.  Yet it resisted in
sullen disquiet, fearing the cutting off of that habit by which it
was being wasted to death, as if that were death itself.

                         CHAPTER VIII

     19.  Then, as this vehement quarrel, which I waged with my
soul in the chamber of my heart, was raging inside my inner
dwelling, agitated both in mind and countenance, I seized upon
Alypius and exclaimed: "What is the matter with us?  What is this?
What did you hear?  The uninstructed start up and take heaven, and
we -- with all our learning but so little heart -- see where we
wallow in flesh and blood!  Because others have gone before us,
are we ashamed to follow, and not rather ashamed at our not
following?"  I scarcely knew what I said, and in my excitement I
flung away from him, while he gazed at me in silent astonishment.
For I did not sound like myself: my face, eyes, color, tone
expressed my meaning more clearly than my words.
     There was a little garden belonging to our lodging, of which
we had the use -- as of the whole house -- for the master, our
landlord, did not live there.  The tempest in my breast hurried me
out into this garden, where no one might interrupt the fiery
struggle in which I was engaged with myself, until it came to the
outcome that thou knewest though I did not.  But I was mad for
health, and dying for life; knowing what evil thing I was, but not
knowing what good thing I was so shortly to become.
     I fled into the garden, with Alypius following step by step;
for I had no secret in which he did not share, and how could he
leave me in such distress?  We sat down, as far from the house as
possible.  I was greatly disturbed in spirit, angry at myself with
a turbulent indignation because I had not entered thy will and
covenant, O my God, while all my bones cried out to me to enter,
extolling it to the skies.  The way therein is not by ships or
chariots or feet -- indeed it was not as far as I had come from
the house to the place where we were seated.  For to go along that
road and indeed to reach the goal is nothing else but the will to
go.  But it must be a strong and single will, not staggering and
swaying about this way and that -- a changeable, twisting,
fluctuating will, wrestling with itself while one part falls as
another rises.
     20.  Finally, in the very fever of my indecision, I made many
motions with my body; like men do when they will to act but
cannot, either because they do not have the limbs or because their
limbs are bound or weakened by disease, or incapacitated in some
other way.  Thus if I tore my hair, struck my forehead, or,
entwining my fingers, clasped my knee, these I did because I
willed it.  But I might have willed it and still not have done it,
if the nerves had not obeyed my will.  Many things then I did, in
which the will and power to do were not the same.  Yet I did not
do that one thing which seemed to me infinitely more desirable,
which before long I should have power to will because shortly when
I willed, I would will with a single will.  For in this, the power
of willing is the power of doing; and as yet I could not do it.
Thus my body more readily obeyed the slightest wish of the soul in
moving its limbs at the order of my mind than my soul obeyed
itself to accomplish in the will alone its great resolve.

                          CHAPTER IX

     21.  How can there be such a strange anomaly?  And why is it?
Let thy mercy shine on me, that I may inquire and find an answer,
amid the dark labyrinth of human punishment and in the darkest
contritions of the sons of Adam.  Whence such an anomaly?  And why
should it be?  The mind commands the body, and the body obeys.
The mind commands itself and is resisted.  The mind commands the
hand to be moved and there is such readiness that the command is
scarcely distinguished from the obedience in act.  Yet the mind is
mind, and the hand is body.  The mind commands the mind to will,
and yet though it be itself it does not obey itself.  Whence this
strange anomaly and why should it be?  I repeat: The will commands
itself to will, and could not give the command unless it wills;
yet what is commanded is not done.  But actually the will does not
will entirely; therefore it does not command entirely.  For as far
as it wills, it commands.  And as far as it does not will, the
thing commanded is not done.  For the will commands that there be
an act of will -- not another, but itself.  But it does not
command entirely.  Therefore, what is commanded does not happen;
for if the will were whole and entire, it would not even command
it to be, because it would already be.  It is, therefore, no
strange anomaly partly to will and partly to be unwilling.  This
is actually an infirmity of mind, which cannot wholly rise, while
pressed down by habit, even though it is supported by the truth.
And so there are two wills, because one of them is not whole, and
what is present in this one is lacking in the other.

                           CHAPTER X

     22.  Let them perish from thy presence, O God, as vain
talkers, and deceivers of the soul perish, who, when they observe
that there are two wills in the act of deliberation, go on to
affirm that there are two kinds of minds in us: one good, the
other evil.  They are indeed themselves evil when they hold these
evil opinions -- and they shall become good only when they come to
hold the truth and consent to the truth that thy apostle may say
to them: "You were formerly in darkness, but now are you in the
light in the Lord."[257]  But they desired to be light, not "in
the Lord," but in themselves.  They conceived the nature of the
soul to be the same as what God is, and thus have become a thicker
darkness than they were; for in their dread arrogance they have
gone farther away from thee, from thee "the true Light, that
lights every man that comes into the world." Mark what you say and
blush for shame; draw near to him and be enlightened, and your
faces shall not be ashamed.[258]
     While I was deliberating whether I would serve the Lord my
God now, as I had long purposed to do, it was I who willed and it
was also I who was unwilling.  In either case, it was I.  I
neither willed with my whole will nor was I wholly unwilling.  And
so I was at war with myself and torn apart by myself.  And this
strife was against my will; yet it did not show the presence of
another mind, but the punishment of my own.  Thus it was no more I
who did it, but the sin that dwelt in me -- the punishment of a
sin freely committed by Adam, and I was a son of Adam.
     23.  For if there are as many opposing natures as there are
opposing wills, there will not be two but many more.  If any man
is trying to decide whether he should go to their conventicle or
to the theater, the Manicheans at once cry out, "See, here are two
natures -- one good, drawing this way, another bad, drawing back
that way; for how else can you explain this indecision between
conflicting wills?"  But I reply that both impulses are bad --
that which draws to them and that which draws back to the theater.
But they do not believe that the will which draws to them can be
anything but good.  Suppose, then, that one of us should try to
decide, and through the conflict of his two wills should waver
whether he should go to the theater or to our Church. Would not
those also waver about the answer here?  For either they must
confess, which they are unwilling to do, that the will that leads
to our church is as good as that which carries their own adherents
and those captivated by their mysteries; or else they must imagine
that there are two evil natures and two evil minds in one man,
both at war with each other, and then it will not be true what
they say, that there is one good and another bad.  Else they must
be converted to the truth, and no longer deny that when anyone
deliberates there is one soul fluctuating between conflicting
     24.  Let them no longer maintain that when they perceive two
wills to be contending with each other in the same man the contest
is between two opposing minds, of two opposing substances, from
two opposing principles, the one good and the other bad.  Thus, O
true God, thou dost reprove and confute and convict them.  For
both wills may be bad: as when a man tries to decide whether he
should kill a man by poison or by the sword; whether he should
take possession of this field or that one belonging to someone
else, when he cannot get both; whether he should squander his
money to buy pleasure or hold onto his money through the motive of
covetousness; whether he should go to the circus or to the
theater, if both are open on the same day; or, whether he should
take a third course, open at the same time, and rob another man's
house; or, a fourth option, whether he should commit adultery, if
he has the opportunity -- all these things concurring in the same
space of time and all being equally longed for, although
impossible to do at one time.  For the mind is pulled four ways by
four antagonistic wills -- or even more, in view of the vast range
of human desires -- but even the Manicheans do not affirm that
there are these many different substances.  The same principle
applies as in the action of good wills.  For I ask them, "Is it a
good thing to have delight in reading the apostle, or is it a good
thing to delight in a sober psalm, or is it a good thing to
discourse on the gospel?"  To each of these, they will answer, "It
is good." But what, then, if all delight us equally and all at the
same time?  Do not different wills distract the mind when a man is
trying to decide what he should choose?  Yet they are all good,
and are at variance with each other until one is chosen.  When
this is done the whole united will may go forward on a single
track instead of remaining as it was before, divided in many ways.
So also, when eternity attracts us from above, and the pleasure of
earthly delight pulls us down from below, the soul does not will
either the one or the other with all its force, but still it is
the same soul that does not will this or that with a united will,
and is therefore pulled apart with grievous perplexities, because
for truth's sake it prefers this, but for custom's sake it does
not lay that aside.

                          CHAPTER XI

     25.  Thus I was sick and tormented, reproaching myself more
bitterly than ever, rolling and writhing in my chain till it
should be utterly broken.  By now I was held but slightly, but
still was held.  And thou, O Lord, didst press upon me in my
inmost heart with a severe mercy, redoubling the lashes of fear
and shame; lest I should again give way and that same slender
remaining tie not be broken off, but recover strength and enchain
me yet more securely.
     I kept saying to myself, "See, let it be done now; let it be
done now." And as I said this I all but came to a firm decision.
I all but did it -- yet I did not quite.  Still I did not fall
back to my old condition, but stood aside for a moment and drew
breath.  And I tried again, and lacked only a very little of
reaching the resolve -- and then somewhat less, and then all but
touched and grasped it.  Yet I still did not quite reach or touch
or grasp the goal, because I hesitated to die to death and to live
to life.  And the worse way, to which I was habituated, was
stronger in me than the better, which I had not tried.  And up to
the very moment in which I was to become another man, the nearer
the moment approached, the greater horror did it strike in me.
But it did not strike me back, nor turn me aside, but held me in
     26.  It was, in fact, my old mistresses, trifles of trifles
and vanities of vanities, who still enthralled me.  They tugged at
my fleshly garments and softly whispered: "Are you going to part
with us?  And from that moment will we never be with you any more?
And from that moment will not this and that be forbidden you
forever?"  What were they suggesting to me in those words "this or
that"?  What is it they suggested, O my God? Let thy mercy guard
the soul of thy servant from the vileness and the shame they did
suggest!  And now I scarcely heard them, for they were not openly
showing themselves and opposing me face to face; but muttering, as
it were, behind my back; and furtively plucking at me as I was
leaving, trying to make me look back at them.  Still they delayed
me, so that I hesitated to break loose and shake myself free of
them and leap over to the place to which I was being called -- for
unruly habit kept saying to me, "Do you think you can live without
     27.  But now it said this very faintly; for in the direction
I had set my face, and yet toward which I still trembled to go,
the chaste dignity of continence appeared to me -- cheerful but
not wanton, modestly alluring me to come and doubt nothing,
extending her holy hands, full of a multitude of good examples --
to receive and embrace me.  There were there so many young men and
maidens, a multitude of youth and every age, grave widows and
ancient virgins; and continence herself in their midst: not
barren, but a fruitful mother of children -- her joys -- by thee,
O Lord, her husband.  And she smiled on me with a challenging
smile as if to say: "Can you not do what these young men and
maidens can?  Or can any of them do it of themselves, and not
rather in the Lord their God?  The Lord their God gave me to them.
Why do you stand in your own strength, and so stand not?  Cast
yourself on him; fear not.  He will not flinch and you will not
fall.  Cast yourself on him without fear, for he will receive and
heal you." And I blushed violently, for I still heard the
muttering of those "trifles" and hung suspended.  Again she seemed
to speak: "Stop your ears against those unclean members of yours,
that they may be mortified.  They tell you of delights, but not
according to the law of the Lord thy God." This struggle raging in
my heart was nothing but the contest of self against self.  And
Alypius kept close beside me, and awaited in silence the outcome
of my extraordinary agitation.

                          CHAPTER XII

     28.  Now when deep reflection had drawn up out of the secret
depths of my soul all my misery and had heaped it up before the
sight of my heart, there arose a mighty storm, accompanied by a
mighty rain of tears.  That I might give way fully to my tears and
lamentations, I stole away from Alypius, for it seemed to me that
solitude was more appropriate for the business of weeping.  I went
far enough away that I could feel that even his presence was no
restraint upon me.  This was the way I felt at the time, and he
realized it.  I suppose I had said something before I started up
and he noticed that the sound of my voice was choked with weeping.
And so he stayed alone, where we had been sitting together,
greatly astonished.  I flung myself down under a fig tree -- how I
know not -- and gave free course to my tears.  The streams of my
eyes gushed out an acceptable sacrifice to thee.  And, not indeed
in these words, but to this effect, I cried to thee: "And thou, O
Lord, how long?  How long, O Lord?  Wilt thou be angry forever?
Oh, remember not against us our former iniquities."[259]  For I
felt that I was still enthralled by them.  I sent up these
sorrowful cries: "How long, how long?  Tomorrow and tomorrow?  Why
not now?  Why not this very hour make an end to my uncleanness?"
     29.  I was saying these things and weeping in the most bitter
contrition of my heart, when suddenly I heard the voice of a boy
or a girl I know not which -- coming from the neighboring house,
chanting over and over again, "Pick it up, read it; pick it up,
read it."[260]  Immediately I ceased weeping and began most
earnestly to think whether it was usual for children in some kind
of game to sing such a song, but I could not remember ever having
heard the like.  So, damming the torrent of my tears, I got to my
feet, for I could not but think that this was a divine command to
open the Bible and read the first passage I should light upon.
For I had heard[261] how Anthony, accidentally coming into church
while the gospel was being read, received the admonition as if
what was read had been addressed to him: "Go and sell what you
have and give it to the poor, and you shall have treasure in
heaven; and come and follow me."[262]  By such an oracle he was
forthwith converted to thee.
     So I quickly returned to the bench where Alypius was sitting,
for there I had put down the apostle's book when I had left there.
I snatched it up, opened it, and in silence read the paragraph on
which my eyes first fell: "Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in
chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying, but put on
the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh to
fulfill the lusts thereof."[263]  I wanted to read no further, nor
did I need to.  For instantly, as the sentence ended, there was
infused in my heart something like the light of full certainty and
all the gloom of doubt vanished away.[264]
     30.  Closing the book, then, and putting my finger or
something else for a mark I began -- now with a tranquil
countenance -- to tell it all to Alypius.  And he in turn
disclosed to me what had been going on in himself, of which I knew
nothing.  He asked to see what I had read.  I showed him, and he
looked on even further than I had read.  I had not known what
followed.  But indeed it was this, "Him that is weak in the faith,
receive."[265]  This he applied to himself, and told me so.  By
these words of warning he was strengthened, and by exercising his
good resolution and purpose -- all very much in keeping with his
character, in which, in these respects, he was always far
different from and better than I -- he joined me in full
commitment without any restless hesitation.
     Then we went in to my mother, and told her what happened, to
her great joy.  We explained to her how it had occurred -- and she
leaped for joy triumphant; and she blessed thee, who art "able to
do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think."[266]
For she saw that thou hadst granted her far more than she had ever
asked for in all her pitiful and doleful lamentations.  For thou
didst so convert me to thee that I sought neither a wife nor any
other of this world's hopes, but set my feet on that rule of faith
which so many years before thou hadst showed her in her dream
about me.  And so thou didst turn her grief into gladness more
plentiful than she had ventured to desire, and dearer and purer
than the desire she used to cherish of having grandchildren of my

                          BOOK NINE

     The end of the autobiography.  Augustine tells of his
resigning from his professorship and of the days at Cassiciacum in
preparation for baptism.  He is baptized together with Adeodatus
and Alypius.  Shortly thereafter, they start back for Africa.
Augustine recalls the ecstasy he and his mother shared in Ostia
and then reports her death and burial and his grief.  The book
closes with a moving prayer for the souls of Monica, Patricius,
and all his fellow citizens of the heavenly Jerusalem.

                           CHAPTER I

     1.  "O Lord, I am thy servant; I am thy servant and the son
of thy handmaid.  Thou hast loosed my bonds.  I will offer to thee
the sacrifice of thanksgiving."[267]  Let my heart and my tongue
praise thee, and let all my bones say, "Lord, who is like unto
thee?"  Let them say so, and answer thou me and say unto my soul,
"I am your salvation."
     Who am I, and what is my nature?  What evil is there not in
me and my deeds; or if not in my deeds, my words; or if not in my
words, my will?  But thou, O Lord, art good and merciful, and thy
right hand didst reach into the depth of my death and didst empty
out the abyss of corruption from the bottom of my heart.  And this
was the result: now I did not will to do what I willed, and began
to will to do what thou didst will.
     But where was my free will during all those years and from
what deep and secret retreat was it called forth in a single
moment, whereby I gave my neck to thy "easy yoke" and my shoulders
to thy "light burden," O Christ Jesus, "my Strength and my
Redeemer"?  How sweet did it suddenly become to me to be without
the sweetness of trifles!  And it was now a joy to put away what I
formerly feared to lose.  For thou didst cast them away from me, O
true and highest Sweetness.  Thou didst cast them away, and in
their place thou didst enter in thyself -- sweeter than all
pleasure, though not to flesh and blood; brighter than all light,
but more veiled than all mystery; more exalted than all honor,
though not to them that are exalted in their own eyes.  Now was my
soul free from the gnawing cares of seeking and getting, of
wallowing in the mire and scratching the itch of lust.  And I
prattled like a child to thee, O Lord my God -- my light, my
riches, and my salvation.

                          CHAPTER II

     2.  And it seemed right to me, in thy sight, not to snatch my
tongue's service abruptly out of the speech market, but to
withdraw quietly, so that the young men who were not concerned
about thy law or thy peace, but with mendacious follies and
forensic strifes, might no longer purchase from my mouth weapons
for their frenzy.  Fortunately, there were only a few days before
the "vintage vacation"[268]; and I determined to endure them, so
that I might resign in due form and, now bought by thee, return
for sale no more.
     My plan was known to thee, but, save for my own friends, it
was not known to other men.  For we had agreed that it should not
be made public; although, in our ascent from the "valley of tears"
and our singing of "the song of degrees," thou hadst given us
sharp arrows and hot burning coals to stop that deceitful tongue
which opposes under the guise of good counsel, and devours what it
loves as though it were food.
     3.  Thou hadst pierced our heart with thy love, and we
carried thy words, as it were, thrust through our vitals.  The
examples of thy servants whom thou hadst changed from black to
shining white, and from death to life, crowded into the bosom of
our thoughts and burned and consumed our sluggish temper, that we
might not topple back into the abyss.  And they fired us
exceedingly, so that every breath of the deceitful tongue of our
detractors might fan the flame and not blow it out.
     Though this vow and purpose of ours should find those who
would loudly praise it -- for the sake of thy name, which thou
hast sanctified throughout the earth -- it nevertheless looked
like a self-vaunting not to wait until the vacation time now so
near.  For if I had left such a public office ahead of time, and
had made the break in the eye of the general public, all who took
notice of this act of mine and observed how near was the vintage
time that I wished to anticipate would have talked about me a
great deal, as if I were trying to appear a great person.  And
what purpose would it serve that people should consider and
dispute about my conversion so that my good should be evil spoken
     4.  Furthermore, this same summer my lungs had begun to be
weak from too much literary labor.  Breathing was difficult; the
pains in my chest showed that the lungs were affected and were
soon fatigued by too loud or prolonged speaking.  This had at
first been a trial to me, for it would have compelled me almost of
necessity to lay down that burden of teaching; or, if I was to be
cured and become strong again, at least to take a leave for a
while.  But as soon as the full desire to be still that I might
know that thou art the Lord[269] arose and was confirmed in me,
thou knowest, my God, that I began to rejoice that I had this
excuse ready -- and not a feigned one, either -- which might
somewhat temper the displeasure of those who for their sons'
freedom wished me never to have any freedom of my own.
     Full of joy, then, I bore it until my time ran out -- it was
perhaps some twenty days -- yet it was some strain to go through
with it, for the greediness which helped to support the drudgery
had gone, and I would have been overwhelmed had not its place been
taken by patience.  Some of thy servants, my brethren, may say
that I sinned in this, since having once fully and from my heart
enlisted in thy service, I permitted myself to sit a single hour
in the chair of falsehood.  I will not dispute it.  But hast thou
not, O most merciful Lord, pardoned and forgiven this sin in the
holy water[270] also, along with all the others, horrible and
deadly as they were?

                          CHAPTER III

     5.  Verecundus was severely disturbed by this new happiness
of mine, since he was still firmly held by his bonds and saw that
he would lose my companionship.  For he was not yet a Christian,
though his wife was; and, indeed, he was more firmly enchained by
her than by anything else, and held back from that journey on
which we had set out.  Furthermore, he declared he did not wish to
be a Christian on any terms except those that were impossible.
However, he invited us most courteously to make use of his country
house so long as we would stay there.  O Lord, thou wilt
recompense him for this "in the resurrection of the just,"[271]
seeing that thou hast already given him "the lot of the
righteous."[272]  For while we were absent at Rome, he was
overtaken with bodily sickness, and during it he was made a
Christian and departed this life as one of the faithful.  Thus
thou hadst mercy on him, and not on him only, but on us as well;
lest, remembering the exceeding kindness of our friend to us and
not able to count him in thy flock, we should be tortured with
intolerable grief.  Thanks be unto thee, our God; we are thine.
Thy exhortations, consolations, and faithful promises assure us
that thou wilt repay Verecundus for that country house at
Cassiciacum -- where we found rest in thee from the fever of the
world -- with the perpetual freshness of thy paradise in which
thou hast forgiven him his earthly sins, in that mountain flowing
with milk, that fruitful mountain -- thy own.
     6.  Thus Verecundus was full of grief; but Nebridius was

(continued in part 13 ...)

file: /pub/resources/text/icp-e/epl-01: agcon-12.txt