The Crucifixion

I Saw the Sun at Midnight Rising Red

I saw the Sun at midnight, rising red,

Deep-hued yet glowing, heavy with the stain

Of blood-compassion, and I saw It gain

Swiftly in size and growing till It spread

Over the stars; the heavens bowed their head

As from Its heart slow dripped a crimson rain,

Then a great tremor shook It, as of pain—

The night fell, moaning, as It hung there dead.

O Sun, O Christ, O bleeding Heart of flame!

Thou giv’st Thine agony as our life’s worth,

And mak’st it infinite, lest we have dearth

Of rights wherewith to call upon thy Name;

Thou pawnest Heaven as a pledge for Earth,

And for our glory sufferest all shame.

                                                                     ~Joseph Mary Plunkett

Entry Into Jerusalem

Christ's Entry into Jerusalem, Benjamin Robert Haydon

Note on Mr. Haydon's picture from the Web Gallery of Art: Haydon was impelled by strong personal faith to undertake his uncommissioned religious canvases. The years of labour he expended on them helped to ruin him. It was his aim to cast out doubt as well as win fame, and in Christ's Entry into Jerusalem, he addressed the issue of doubt directly, assembling past rationalists and sceptics like Voltaire and his own more devout friends like Wordsworth among the watching crowd. Their varied reactions to Christ's appearance amount to a debate on faith.

 

The Entry Into Jerusalem (Mr. Haydon's great picture)

The air is fill'd with shouts, and trumpets' sounding--

A host are at thy gates, Jerusalem.

Now is their van the Mount of Olives rounding;

Above them Judah's lion-banners gleam,

Twined with the palm and olives' peaceful stem:

Now swell the nearer sounds of voice and string,

As down the hillside pours the living stream;

And to the cloudless heaven Hosannas ring,

"He comes, the Son of David comes--the mighty King!"

The cuirass'd Roman heard; and grasp'd his shield,

And rushed in fiery haste to gate and tower;

The Pontiff from his battlement beheld

The host, and knew the falling of his power--

That shout gave sign of Sion's final hour.

Still down the marble road the myriads come,

Spreading the way with garment, branch, and flower,

And deeper sounds are mingling, "woe to Rome!

The day of freedom dawns--rise Israel from thy tomb!"

Temple of beauty--long that day is done;

Thy ark is dust, thy golden cherubim

In the fierce triumphs of the foe are gone:

The shades of ages on thy altars swim,

Yet still a light is there, tho' wavering dim,

And has its holy lamp been watch'd in vain?

Or lives it not until the finish'd time,

When he who fixed, shall break his people's chain;

And Sion be the lov'd, the crown'd of God again?

But then thou wast of earth the splendid wonder,

And matchless beauty sat upon thy walls.

At once, as with a peal of midnight thunder,

Startled the crowd within thy ivory halls;

The priests, with turban'd brows, and purple palls,

The son of Mammon, the pale usurer,

Like men that see the lightening ere it falls,

From their polluted seats sprang smote with fear--

That shout, like Judgement's Trumpet, burst upon their ear.

He comes, yet with the burning bolt unarmed;

Pale, pure, prophetic, God of Majesty!

Tho' thousands, tens of thousands, round him swarm'd,

None durst abide that depth divine of eye;

None durst his waving garments' hem draw nigh.

But at his feet was laid the Roman's sword:

There Lazarus bowed to see his King pass by;

There Jairus, with his age's child, adored.

"He comes, the King of Kings, Hosanna to the Lord!"

                                                             ~Reverend George Croly

The Annunciation

The Annunciation, Philippe de Champaigne

In the pupil of chastity's eye
I beheld you
untouched.
Generous maid! Know that it's God
who broods over you.

For heaven flooded you like
unbodied speech
and you gave it a tongue.

Glistening
lily: before all worlds
you lured the supernal one.

How he reveled
in your charms! how your beauty
warmed to his caresses
till you gave your breast to his child.

And your womb held joy when heaven's
harmonies rang from you,
a maiden with child by God,
for in God your chastity blazed.

Yes your flesh held joy like the grass
when the dew falls, when heaven
freshens its green: O mother
of gladness, verdure of spring.

Ecclesia, flush with rapture! Sing
for Mary's sake, sing
for the maiden, sing
for God's mother. Sing!

            

                                                                                 ~St. Hildegard of  Bingen

In the Wilderness

In the Wilderness
by Robert Graves

 

Christ of His gentleness
Thirsting and hungering
Walked in the wilderness;
Soft words of grace He spoke
Unto lost desert-folk
That listened wondering. 

He heard the bitterns call
From the ruined palace-wall,
Answered them brotherly.
He held communion
With the she-pelican
Of lonely piety. 

Basilisk, cockatrice,
Flocked to his homilies,
With mail of dread device,
With monstrous barbed slings,
With eager dragon-eyes;
Great rats on leather wings,
And poor blind broken things,
Foul in their miseries. 

And ever with Him went,
Of all His wanderings
Comrade, with ragged coat,
Gaunt ribs--poor innocent--
Bleeding foot, burning throat,
The guileless old scape-goat;
For forty nights and days
Followed in Jesus' ways,
Sure guard behind Him kept,
Tears like a lover wept. 

 

Second Sunday of Ordinary Time...Never Ordinary

Cathedral Altar in Pisa, Italy

 

Citizen of the World

 

No longer of Him be it said
"He hath no place to lay His head."

In every land a constant lamp
Flames by His small and mighty camp.

There is no strange and distant place
That is not gladdened by His face.

And every nation kneels to hail
The Splendour shining through Its veil.

Cloistered beside the shouting street,
Silent, He calls me to His feet.

Imprisoned for His love of me
He makes my spirit greatly free.

And through my lips that uttered sin
The King of Glory enters in.

Joyce Kilmer

Boys on a Winter Morning

Winter-Time

Robert Louis Stevenson

Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,

A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;

Blinks but an hour or two; and then,

A blood-red orange, sets again.

Before the stars have left the skies,

At morning in the dark I rise;

And shivering in my nakedness,

By the cold candle, bathe and dress.

Close by the jolly fire I sit

To warm my frozen bones a bit;

Or with a reindeer-sled, explore

The colder countries round the door.

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap

Me in my comforter and cap;

The cold wind burns my face, and blows

Its frosty pepper up my nose.

Black are my steps on silver sod;

Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;

And tree and house, and hill and lake,

Are frosted like a wedding cake.