As a priest for many — 49 — years now, I have not rarely been asked to be with batchmates or friends of my school days, when they were nearing death. So often, at that time of truth, it was almost invariably to this same figure they turned, sometimes with a tenderness whose memory moves me whenever I recall it. As not long ago one good friend of my boyhood came to his last moments holding the rosary tightly in his hands, I thought of the verses by Hilaire Belloc which he and I had memorized for our classes in English, and — oddly — remembered yet in our aging years…