A visitor at the hospice of St. Bernard in the high Alps tells of one of the noble rescuing dogs coming in one noontime holding its head and tail to the ground and slinking away to a dark corner of his kennel, as if ashamed to look anyone in the face.
The monk explained to the visitor that the dog had been unable that day to rescue anyone from the snow, though he had searched diligently for someone that might be lost in the mountains and was therefore ashamed to return from his search.
We are wondering how it will be with us when we all reach the end of our life.
Will we be afraid or ashamed to face our Master because we have failed to rescue
some lost traveler in the snows of the mountains of sin,
from the sun-bleached paths of the deserts of iniquity,
some mariner lost on the raging sea to time.?
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