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Henceforth Luther’s labors and studies went forward with a new impulse and inspiration.  Hebrew and Greek were thoroughly mastered.  The Fathers of the Church, ancient and modern, were carefully read.  The systems of the Schoolmen, the Book of Sentences, the Commentaries, the Decretals—­everything relating to his department as a doctor of theology—­were examined, and brought to the test of Holy Scripture.

In his sermons, lectures, and disquisitions the results of these incessant studies came out with a depth of penetration, a clearness of statement, a simplicity of utterance, a devoutness of spirit, and a convincing power of eloquence which, with the eminent sanctity of his life, won for him unbounded praise.  The common feeling was that the earth did not contain another such a doctor and had not seen his equal for many ages.  Envy and jealousy themselves, those green-eyed monsters which gather about the paths of great qualities and successes, seemed for the time to be paralyzed before a brilliancy which rested on such humility, conscientiousness, fidelity, and merit.

LUTHER’S LABORS.

Years of fruitful labor passed.  The Decalogue was expounded.  Paul’s letter to the Romans and the penitential Psalms were explained.  The lectures on the Epistle to the Galatians were nearly completed.  But no book from Luther had yet been published.

In 1515 he was chosen district vicar of the Augustinian monasteries of Meissen and Thuringia.  It was a laborious office, but it gave him new experiences, familiarized him still more with the monks, brought him into executive administrations, and developed his tact in dealing with men.

One other particular served greatly to establish him in the hearts of the people.  A deadly plague broke out in Wittenberg.  Citizens were dying by dozens and scores.  At a later period a like scourge visited Geneva, and so terrified Calvin and his ministerial associates that they appealed to the Supreme Council, entreating, “Mighty lords, release us from attending these infected people, for our lives are in peril.”  Not so Luther.  His friends said, “Fly! fly!” lest he should fall by the plague and be lost to the world.  “Fly?” said he.  “No, no, my God.  If I die, I die.  The world will not perish because a monk has fallen.  I am not St. Paul, not to fear death, but God will sustain me.”  And as an angel of mercy he remained, ministering to the sick and dying and caring for the orphans and widows of the dead.

COLLISION WITH THE HIERARCHY.

Such was Luther up to the time of his rupture with Rome.  He knew something of the shams and falsities that prevailed, and he had assailed and exposed many of them in his lectures and sermons; but to lead a general reformation was the farthest from his thoughts.  Indeed, he still had such confidence in the integrity of the Roman Church that he did not yet realize how greatly a thorough general reformation was needed.  Humble in mind, peaceable in disposition, reverent toward authority, loving privacy, and fully occupied with his daily studies and duties, it was not in him to think of making war with powers whose claims he had not yet learned to question.