. The book of months . AUGUST sped by, and temptations hideous and beautifuland strong and subtle had been ever about hispath and about his bed; yet he was still withoutguile, nor was there spot or stain on his virginsoul. Albeit he was very weary, and for yearshad he been very weary, and sometimes he hadprayed that he might die, not knowing what heprayed, for the flesh was weak. But the sacredspear which he bore ever with him, that spearwhich had pierced the side of our blessed Lord,was his strength and his firm defence, as it hadever been since he had won it from Klingsor, themagician, unarm
. The book of months . AUGUST sped by, and temptations hideous and beautifuland strong and subtle had been ever about hispath and about his bed; yet he was still withoutguile, nor was there spot or stain on his virginsoul. Albeit he was very weary, and for yearshad he been very weary, and sometimes he hadprayed that he might die, not knowing what heprayed, for the flesh was weak. But the sacredspear which he bore ever with him, that spearwhich had pierced the side of our blessed Lord,was his strength and his firm defence, as it hadever been since he had won it from Klingsor, themagician, unarmed except for the armor of hispure heart. So it came about that on the dawning of thatday on which our blessed Lord was crucified hiswanderings led him back to that place fromwhich they had started, ere yet he had confound-ed the sorcerer, Klingsor, and in the garden ofseduction had resisted the wiles of Kundry, who197 -?■,;, L^?.. ■*%is. /},. .-W «.fe-- :2«0- • s. - ■■ -&^ i^lly THE BOOK OF MONTHS laughed at our blessed Lord what time He borethe cross of our redemption to Calvary, andthus henceforth could never weep, but by herlaughter lured the souls of men to hell. Wearybeyond all speech was he with his wanderings, inwhich he ever fought against the powers of evil,and he knew not whither he had come, nor thatit was the blessed Friday on which he had comehither: for in that he did ever his dear Lordswork, that it was now the day on which Hesuffered on the cross for our redemption, wasless to him than this work of salvation which hehimself daily accomplished. Nor saw he thebrightness of the meadows nor read the joyousmessage that spring wrote on the bloominghawthorn and on the green places of the the young year had put on her fresh mantle,and, like some fair maiden, had dressed herselfagainst the coming of her lover. The brooks alldown the valley of Monsalvat—for to Monsalvathe had com
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