Feast of St Martin of Tours.
Although his outward deeds could in some sort of way be set forth in words, no language, I truly own, can ever be capable of describing his inner life and daily conduct, and his mind always bent upon the things of heaven.
No one can adequately make known his perseverance and self-mastery in abstinence and fastings, or his power in watchings and prayers, along with the nights, as well as days, which were spent by him, while not a moment was separated from the service of God, either for indulging in ease, or engaging in business.
But, in fact, he did not indulge either in food or sleep, except in so far as the necessities of nature required.
I freely confess that, if, as the saying is, Homer himself were to ascend from the shades below, he could not do justice to this subject in words; to such an extent did all excellences surpass in Martin the possibility of being embodied in language.
Never did a single hour or moment pass in which he was not either actually engaged in prayer; or, if it happened that he was occupied with something else, still he never let his mind loose from prayer.
In truth, just as it is the custom of blacksmiths in the midst of their work to beat their own anvil as a sort of relief to the laborer, so Martin even when he appeared to be doing something else, was still engaged in prayer.
O truly blessed man in whom there was no guile — judging no man, condemning no man, returning evil for evil to no man!
He displayed indeed such marvelous patience in the endurance of injuries, that even when he was chief priest, he allowed himself to be wronged by the lowest clerics with impunity; nor did he either remove them from the office on account of such conduct, or, as far as in him lay, repel them from a place in his affection.
No one ever saw him enraged, or excited, or lamenting, or laughing; he was always one and the same: displaying a kind of heavenly happiness in his countenance, he seemed to have passed the ordinary limits of human nature.
Never was there any word on his lips but Christ, and never was there a feeling in his heart except piety, peace, and tender mercy.
Frequently, too, he used to weep for the sins of those who showed themselves his revilers— those who, as he led his retired and tranquil life, slandered him with poisoned tongue and a viper’s mouth.