Category: Sunday poems

December

Sr. Dorcee, beloved2 Comments

December

All bright and clear, the starry vault
With golden lights and crisp, clean air,
Allures the soul to rise, nor halt
Till she shall float exultant there.

Earth folds her form in ermine cloak,
Whose glist’ning sheen reflects the stars;
Clear rings the skaters’ rhythmic stroke
From stream held fast in icy bars.

Uprears the sun at morning’s birth,
In glory bathes the wood and plain;
Day’s busy hum awakes the earth
To view the scene of Winter’s reign.

We love the smile of youthful Spring,
There’s gladness in the Summer’s glow,
And rich in Autumn’s harvesting,–
Yet, greater gifts can Winter show,–

Rare gifts, surpassing pearls and gold;
God’s Mother-Maid, Immaculate,
And Christ the King–these, Winter old
Brings down to bless man’s poor estate.

J.A.M.

Advent Prayer

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

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.

A blessing

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

May you take this poem as a personal blessing to you today:

Jesus’ arm beneath thy head,
Jesus’ love around thee shed,
Jesus’ light to cheer thy way,
Jesus’ ear to hear thee pray,
Jesus’ loving hand to bless
in this weary wilderness.
Jesus first and Jesus last
till earth’s storms are past.
And if aught forgotten be–
may he double it to thee.

~unknown

Pneuma

Sr. Dorcee, belovedLeave a comment

Pneuma

The wind breathes where it wishes
blows where it flows
The eye of your storm
sees from the wild height
Your air augments the world
tearing away dead wood
testing, toughening all trees
spreading all seeds
sifting the sand
carving the rock
the water
in the end
moving the mountain.

~Luci Shaw

And That Will Be Heaven

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

A Sunday-poem for you:

And That Will Be Heaven

and that will be heaven

and that will be heaven
at last      the first unclouded
seeing

to stand like the sunflower
turned full face to the sun    drenched
in light    in the still centre
held    while the circling planets
hum with an utter joy
seeing and knowing
at last     in every particle
seen and known     and not turning
away
never turning away
again

~Evangeline Patterson

The fire of Your love

Sr. Dorcee, belovedLeave a comment

Eternal Trinity,
Godhead,
mystery deep as the sea,
you could give me no greater gift
then the gift of
yourself.

For you are a fire ever burning and never consumed,
which itself consumes all the selfish love
that fills my being.

Yes, you are a fire that takes away the coldness,
illuminates the mind with its light,
and causes me to know your
truth.

And I know that
you are beauty and wisdom itself.

The food of angels,
you gave yourself to man
in the fire of your
love.

~St. Catherine of Siena

“He Who Would Be Great Among You”

Sr. Dorcee, belovedLeave a comment

I felt like dipping into Luci Shaw this morning.

He Who Would Be Great Among You

You, whose birth broke all
the social and biological rules–
son of the poor who accepted
the worship due a king–
child prodigy debating
with the Temple Th. D.s–you
were the kind who used a new math
to multiply bread, fish, faith.
You practiced a radical sociology:
rehabilitated con men &
call girls.  You valued women,
aliens, & other minority groups.
A general practitioner,
you specialized in heart surgery.
Creator, healer, innovator,
shepherd, story-spinner,
weather-maker, botanist,
alchemist, exorcist, iconoclast,
seeker, seer, motive-sifter,
you were always beyond us,
ahead of your own time, & ours.

And we would like to be
like you.  Bold as the James and John,
the Boanerges brothers,
we hear ourselves demand,
“Admit us to your avant-garde.
Grant us degrees in all
the liberal arts of heaven.”
Why our belligerence?  Why
does this whiff of fame and greatness
smell so sweet?
Why do we always compete
to be first?  Have we forgotten
how you took, gently & simply,
cool water, & a towel for our feet?

~Luci Shaw

Even there

Sr. Dorcee, beloved2 Comments

Written by a missionary in Communist China in the early 1950’s, with only 15 cents left in his pocket, a terrible toothache, no fuel and a tiny daughter with scarlet fever.  The beginning reference is to Acts 27:27-32.

In Adria’s tempest-tossed wastes,
My barque through the dark deeps is driv’n;
The canvas all torn from my masts,
My timbers by stormy waves riv’n.
Yet there faith’s assurance rings clear,
E’en there will I trust, EVEN THERE.

All hope for deliverance had gone,
Despair’s chilly gloom shrouded all;
No sun’s ray through threat’ning cloud shone
To brighten the future’s dark pall.
Yet there should my heart quake with fear,
E’en there will I trust, EVEN THERE.

My brook’s daily waters had dried,
All replenishing springs scorched bare;
Resourceless in sore need I cried
To a God who seemed not to care.
Though trembling, triumphant I bow
E’en now will I trust, EVEN NOW.

The barrel of meal empties fast,
The tempter crowds close with his lies;
“Can God?” Ah! He’s failed you at last,
“In wilderness find fresh supplies.”
Perish doubts!  Though I know not how,
E’en now will I trust, EVEN NOW.

~Arthur Mathews