The Angel Of The Night
ONE Christmas Eve an old monk had baked the bread for the Host, and as it lay upon his table, though it was not yet consecrated, he worshiped it, and there came to him dreams of the Love of God, of the Fellowship of Jesus and of the unimaginable joys of the Spiritual Life.
These he wrote in the black letters, that the ideal might be made real, and an Angel who passed in flight was drawn to him by the thought. Now while the Angel read what was being written, he nibbled at the bread, and nibbled until it was all gone. When the monk perceived that there was none left, and that the Christmas Mass could not be celebrated, he cried to the Angel, "Fly, thou wretched mouse! who hast chosen the bread of earth rather than that of Heaven."
And the Angel fled away as a bat into the night, and since then he always flies in the darkness, lest the priests of God should see him. But when he sees a lighted lamp, he flies towards it, hoping to read at last those words of Life, that he may be thereby released.