Category: Sunday poems

Brier

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

Brier (Good Friday)

Because, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm
Bends back the brier that edges life’s long way,
That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm,
I do not feel the thorns so much to-day.

Because I never knew your care to tire,
Your hand to weary guiding me aright,
Because you walk before and crush the brier,
It does not pierce my feet so much to-night.

Because so often you have hearkened to
My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now,
That these harsh hands of mind add not unto
The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow.

E. Pauline Johnson (Tehahionwake)

“Come Sunday”

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

Come Sunday

Lord, dear Lord of love, God Almighty, God above,
Please look down and see my people through.

I believe that God put sun and moon up in the sky.
I don’t mind the gray skies ’cause they’re just clouds passing by.
He’ll give peace and comfort to every troubled mind,
Come Sunday, oh come Sunday, that’s the day.

Often we feel weary but he knows our every care.
Go to him in secret, he will hear your every prayer.
Up from dawn till sunset, man works hard all day,
Come Sunday, oh come Sunday, that’s the day.

(Duke Ellington)

Thy loving heart

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Jesus, I am resting, resting
In the joy of what Thou art.
I am finding out the greatness
Of thy loving heart.
Thou hast bid me gaze upon Thee,
And Thy beauty fills my soul,
For by Thy transforming power,
Thou hast made me whole.

O, how great Thy loving kindness,
Vaster, broader than the sea!
O, how marvelous Thy goodness,
Lavished all on me!
Yes, I rest in Thee, Beloved,
Know what wealth of grace is Thine,
Know Thy certainty of promise,
And have made it mine.

Simply trusting Thee, Lord Jesus,
I behold Thee as Thou art.
And Thy love, so pure, so changeless,
Satisfies my heart.
Satisfies its deepest longings,
Meets, supplies its ev’ry need,
Compasses me round with blessings,
Thine is love indeed!

Jesus, I am resting, resting
In the joy of what Thou art.
I am finding out the greatness
Of  Thy loving heart.

Hold me there

Sr. Dorcee, beloved2 Comments

Lift my eyes to Yours,
my heart to Yours,
and hold me there.
I would not stray from You
willingly,
yet weakness diverts my gaze
too often.
Be consoled, my soul.
His heart’s gaze never strays.
His hold never weakens.

                                                December 14, 1999

Cold

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A Sunday-poem by Mother Mary Francis:

Cold

This is the season of snows,
when the sky, all in pieces, is falling,
and bells from invisible towers
are soundlessly tolling.

Over the carpeted earth,
footsteps are coming and going,
leaving no tracks on a land
where winter is snowing.

Where are they hanging, the bells?
Whose are the feet that come walking?
And voices gone speechless with cold–
to whom are they talking?

Sound is an alien here,
and vision the child of a stranger.
Nothing is feeding the heart,
nothing but hunger.

Feed then my eyes and my ears.
God, feed my hunger with hunger,
my longing with snow-falling snow,
my heart with your winter.

There came a greater man

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Baptism of our Lordjesus_baptism

with each step through jordan
the water parted wide
priests and ark stood on dry ground
where once was swelling tide
safe through its torrents we all passed
in canaan to abide

shamed and naked, in disgrace
our captors led us away
to settle us by exile streams
where foreign gods held sway
sadly, there we hung our harps
and could not sing or play

an odd prophet, desert worn
with thundering voice appeared
and stood again where waters flow
to call for all to hear
that we should take our place once more
in jordan’s midst with tears

and then there came a greater man
to pass through swelling tide
when waters broke a voice was heard
the heavens opened wide
and our new joshua arose
salvation to provide

“Chaplain Mike”

Advent Prayer (repost)

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Advent Prayer

Like foolish folk of old I would not be,
Who had no room that night for Him and thee.
See, Mother Mary, here within my heart
I’ve made a little shrine for Him apart;
Swept it of sin, and cleansed it with all care;
Warmed it with love and scented it with prayer.
So, Mother, when the Christmas anthems start,
Please let me hold your baby–in my heart.

Sr. Maryanna, O.P.

Robert, Cyril. Mary Immaculate: God’s Mother and Mine. New York: Marist Press, 1946.

Advent Sunday

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

A Sunday-poem by Christina Rossetti:

Advent Sunday

Upload time: Apr 21, 2009 by Matt12345Add info Report inaccuracy Add tag FavouriteMore Sharing ServicesShare Share on facebook Share on myspace Share on google Share on twitterComments Be the first to post a comment! To write a comment please log in or register. Schadow, Wilhelm von (1788 - 1862)Parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins (detail)
Schadow, Wilhelm von (1788 – 1862)
Parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins (detail)

Behold, the Bridegroom cometh: go ye out
With lighted lamps and garlands round about
To meet Him in a rapture with a shout.

It may be at the midnight, black as pitch,
Earth shall cast up her poor, cast up her rich.

It may be at the crowing of the cock
Earth shall upheave her depth, uproot her rock.

For, lo, the Bridegroom fetcheth home the Bride:
His Hands are Hands she knows, she knows His Side.

Like pure Rebekah at the appointed place,
Veiled, she unveils her face to meet His Face.

Like great Queen Esther in her triumphing,
She triumphs in the Presence of her King.

His Eyes are as a Dove’s, and she’s Dove-eyed;
He knows His lovely  mirror, sister, Bride.

He speaks with Dove-voice of exceeding love,
And she with love-voice of an answering Dove.

Behold, the Bridegroom cometh: go we out
With lamps ablaze and garlands round about
To meet Him in a rapture with a shout.