Saint John the Baptist

THE last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King,

Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild,
Among that savage brood the woods forth bring,
Which he than man more harmless found and mild.
His food was locusts, and what young doth spring
With honey that from virgin hives distill'd;
Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing
Made him appear, long since from earth exiled.
There burst he forth: 'All ye, whose hopes rely
On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn;
Repent, repent, and from old errors turn!'
—Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry?
        Only the echoes, which he made relent,
        Rung from their marble caves 'Repent! Repent!'

-- William Drummond (1585-1649), Scots poet and second Laird of Hawthornden

St Andrew’s Day under the Southern Cross

GOD bless our land, our Scotland,
Grey glen an’ misty brae,
The blue heights o’ the Coolins,
The green haughs yont the Spey,
The weary wastes on Solway,
Snell winds blaw owre them a’ —
But aye it’s Hame, lad,
Yours an’ mine, lad,
Shielin’ or ha’.

It’s Hame, it’s Hame for ever,
Let good or ill betide!
The croon o’ some dear river,
The blink o’ ae braeside.

God bless our land; it’s yonder –
Far in the cold North Sea:
But ‘neath the old Saint’s glamour
It’s calling you an’ me:
Your feet tread Libyan deserts,
Mine press the wattle’s bloom,
But to-night we stand together
Among the broom.

It’s Hame, it’s Hame for ever,
Let shore or sea divide!
The croon o’ some dear river,
The blink o’ ae braeside.

God bless our land. We dream o’t —
The days aye brakin’ fine
On the lang, lane glints o’ heather
In the glens we kent langsyne.

Ay, we are Reubens, rovers,
‘Neath mony an alien star,
But flaunt the blue flag o’er us,
Pipe up the ” Braes o’ Mar,”
And steppe and nullah vanish,
And pomp and pelf and fame —
It’s gloamin’ — on a lown hillside,
An’ lads, . . . We’re . . . Hame.

-- Mary Symon (1863-1938), Scots poet and translator who wrote in the Banffshire dialect. This poem is for all the Scots abroad.

Image of the Southern Cross from the New Zealand observatory.

Be Thou My Well

Be thou the well by which I lie and rest;

Be thou my tree of life, my garden ground; 

Be thou my home, my fire, my chamber blest, 

My book of wisdom, loved of all the best; 

Oh, be my friend, each day still newer found, 

As the eternal days and nights go round! 

Nay, nay—thou art my God, in whom all loves are bound!

--George MacDonald (1824-1905), Scots poet, preacher, fairy tale writer, and editor, influence on JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis; from A Book of Strife in the Form of the Diary of an Old Soul (1880

Image: St. Patrick's Holy Well, Marlfield Clonmell Ireland

Epiphany Poem

The red king
Came to a great water. He said,
Here the journey ends.
No keel or skipper on this shore.

The yellow king
Halted under a hill. He said,
Turn the camels round.
Beyond, ice summits only.

The black king
Knocked on a city gate. He said,
All roads stop here.
These are gravestones, no inn.

The three kings
Met under a dry star.
There, at midnight,
The star began its singing.

The three kings
Suffered salt, snow, skulls.
They suffered the silence
Before the first word.


--George Mackay Brown (1921-1996) Scots poet from the Orkney islands and convert to Catholicism.

Scripture reference: Matthew 2:1-12 (Feast of the Epiphany)

The Transfiguration

So from the ground we felt that virtue branch
Through all our veins till we were whole, our wrists
As fresh and pure as water from a well,
Our hands made new to handle holy things,
The source of all our seeing rinsed and cleansed
Till earth and light and water entering there
Gave back to us the clear unfallen world.
We would have thrown our clothes away for lightness,
But that even they, though sour and travel stained,
Seemed, like our flesh, made of immortal substance,
And the soiled flax and wool lay light upon us
Like friendly wonders, flower and flock entwined
As in a morning field. Was it a vision?
Or did we see that day the unseeable
One glory of the everlasting world
Perpetually at work, though never seen
Since Eden locked the gate that’s everywhere
And nowhere? Was the change in us alone,
And the enormous earth still left forlorn,
An exile or a prisoner? Yet the world
We saw that day made this unreal, for all
Was in its place. The painted animals
Assembled there in gentle congregations,
Or sought apart their leafy oratories,
Or walked in peace, the wild and tame together,
As if, also for them, the day had come.
The shepherds’ hovels shone, for underneath
The soot we saw the stone clean at the heart
As on the starting-day. The refuse heaps
Were grained with that fine dust that made the world;
For he had said, ‘To the pure all things are pure.’
And when we went into the town, he with us,
The lurkers under doorways, murderers,
With rags tied round their feet for silence, came
Out of themselves to us and were with us,
And those who hide within the labyrinth
Of their own loneliness and greatness came,
And those entangled in their own devices,
The silent and the garrulous liars, all
Stepped out of their dungeons and were free.
Reality or vision, this we have seen.
If it had lasted but another moment
It might have held for ever! But the world
Rolled back into its place, and we are here,
And all that radiant kingdom lies forlorn,
As if it had never stirred; no human voice
Is heard among its meadows, but it speaks
To itself alone, alone it flowers and shines
And blossoms for itself while time runs on.
​
But he will come again, it’s said, though not
Unwanted and unsummoned; for all things,
Beasts of the field, and woods, and rocks, and seas,
And all mankind from end to end of the earth
Will call him with one voice. In our own time,
Some say, or at a time when time is ripe.
Then he will come, Christ the uncrucified,
Christ the discrucified, his death undone,
His agony unmade, his cross dismantled—
Glad to be so—and the tormented wood
Will cure its hurt and grow into a tree
In a green springing corner of young Eden,
And Judas damned take his long journey backward
From darkness into light and be a child
Beside his mother’s knee, and the betrayal
Be quite undone and never more be done.

--Edwin Muir (1887-1959), Scots poet, translator, journalist, editor, critic, and writer.

Today is the Feast of the Transfiguration (which is different from Transfiguration Sunday, which is the last Sunday in Epiphany. Yeah, I know.)

God With Me Lying Down

God with me lying down,
God with me rising up,
God with me in each ray of light,
Nor I a ray of joy without Him,
Nor one ray without Him.

Christ with me sleeping,
Christ with me waking,
Christ with me watching,
Every day and night,
Each day and night.

God with me protecting,
The Lord with me directing,
The Spirit with me strengthening,
For ever and for evermore,
Ever and evermore, Amen.
Chief of chiefs, Amen.


--from the Carmina Gadelica, collected by Alexander Carmichael (1832-1912) from the Outer Hebrides in Scotland.

The Beltane Blessing

Bless, O Threefold true and bountiful,
Myself, my spouse, and my children,
My tender children and their beloved mother at their head.
On the fragrant plain, on the gay mountain sheiling,
On the fragrant plain, on the gay mountain sheiling.

Everything within my dwelling or in my possession,
All kine and crops, all flocks and corn,
From Hallow Eve to Beltane Eve,
With goodly progress and gentle blessing,
From sea to sea, and every river mouth,
From wave to wave, arid base of waterfall.

Be the Three Persons taking possession of all to me belonging,
Be the sure Trinity protecting me in truth;
Oh! satisfy my soul in the words of Paul,
And shield my loved ones beneath the wing of Thy glory,
Shield my loved ones beneath the wing of Thy glory.

Bless everything and every one,
Of this little household by my side;
Place the cross of Christ on us with the power of love,
Till we see the land of joy,
Till we see the land of joy.

What time the kine shall forsake the stalls,
What time the sheep shall forsake the folds,
What time the goats shall ascend to the mount of mist,
May the tending of the Triune follow them,
May the tending of the Triune follow them.

Thou being who didst create me at the beginning,
Listen and attend me as I bend the knee to Thee,
Morning and evening as is becoming in me,
In Thine own presence, O God of life,
In Thine own presence, O God of life.



-- prayer of the people of the Outer Hebrides, collected by Alexander Carmichael (1832-1912) in the Carmina Gadelica I, 183–185

Beltane is a Celtic May Day festival, halfway between the spring equinox and the summer solstice. A "sheiling" is a pasture.

The Journey Prayer

God, bless to me this day,
God bless to me this night;
Bless, O bless, Thou God of grace,
Each day and hour of my life;
Bless, O bless, Thou God of grace,
Each day and hour of my life.

God, bless the pathway on which I go,
God, bless the earth that is beneath my sole;
Bless, O God, and give to me Thy love,
O God of gods, bless my rest and my repose;
Bless, O God, and give to me Thy love,

And bless, O God of gods, my repose.

--prayer of the people of the Outer Hebrides, collected by James Watson, grandson of Alexander Carmichael, in Carmina Gadelica III

Peace

Peace between neighbors,
Peace between kindred,
Peace between lovers,
In love of the King of life.

Peace between person and person,
Peace between wife and husband,
Peace between woman and children,
The Peace of Christ above all peace.

Bless, O Christ, my face,
Let my face bless everything;
Bless, O Christ, mine eye,
Let mine eye bless all it sees.

--from the Carmina Gadelica III, collected by Alexander Carmichael and his family, among the people of the Outer Hebrides and Scots Highlands

The Love and Affection of the Angels

The love and affection of the angels be to you, 
The love and affection of the saints be to you, 
The love and affection of heaven be to you, 
To guard you and to cherish you.

-- From the Carmina Gadelica III, collected by Alexander Carmichael and his family from the Outer Hebrides and the Scots Highlands

St. Columba at Iona

Delightful it would be
From a rock pinnacle to trace
Continually
The Ocean's face:
That I might watch the heaving waves
Of noble force
To God the Father chant their staves
Of the earth's course.
That I might mark the level strand,
To me no less distress,
That I might mark the sea-bird's wondrous band-
Sweet source of happiness.
That I might hear the clamorous billows thunder
On the rude beach.
That by my blessed church side I might ponder
Their mighty speech.
Or watch surf-flying gulls the dark shoal follow
With joyous scream,
Or mighty ocean monsters spout and wallow,
Wonder supreme!
That I might well observe the ebb and flood
All cycles therein;
And that my mystic name might be for good
But 'Cul-ri. Erin.'
That gazing toward her on my heart might fall
A full contrition,
That I might bewail my evils all,
Though hard the addition;
That I might bless the Lord who all things orders
For their good.
The countless hierarchies through heaven's bright borders-
Land, strand, and flood/
That I might search all books and from their chart
Find my soul's calm.
Now kneel before the Heaven of my heart,
Now chant a psalm;
Now meditate upon the King of heaven,
Chief of the Holy Three;
Now ply my work by no compulsion driven
What greater joy could be?
Now plucking dulse from rocky shore,
Now fishing eager on,
Now furnishing food unto famished poor;
In hermitage anon:
The guidance of the King of kings
Has been vouchsafed to me;
If I keep watch beneath his wings
No evil shall undo me.

--Alfred P. Graves (1846-1931), Irish poet, from A Celtic Psaltery, 1917

Prayer at Dressing

Bless to me, O God,
my soul and my body;
Bless to me, O God,
My belief and my condition;

Bless to me, O God,
My heart and my speech;
Bless to me, O God,
The handling of my hand;

Strength and busyness of morning,
Habit and temper of modesty,
Force and wisdom of thought,
And Thine own path, O God of virtues,
Till I go to sleep this night;

Thine own path, O God of virtues,
Till I go to sleep this night.

--anonymous, collected by Alexander Carmichael (1832-1912), folklorist among the Scots, and published in Carmina Gadelica (Hymns of the Gael) I.

Come I This Day

Come I this day to the Father,
Come I this day to the Son,
Come I this day to the Holy Spirit powerful;
Come I this day to with God,
Come I this day to with Christ
Come I with the Spirit of kindly balm.

God, and Spirit, and Jesus,
From the crown of my head
To the souls of my feet;
Come I with my reputation,
Come I with my testimony,
Come I to Thee, Jesu;
Jesu, shelter me.

-- anonymous, collected by Alexander Carmichael (1832-1912), folklorist among the Scots, and published in Carmina Gadelica (Hymns of the Gael) I.

I Lie Down This Night

I lie down this night with God,

And God will lie down with me;

I lie down this night with Christ,

And Christ will lie down with me;

I lie down this night with Spirit,

And the Spirit will lie down with me;

God and Christ and the Spirit

Be lying down with me.

-- anonymous, collected by Alexander Carmichael, folklorist, and published in Carmina Gadelica (Hymns of the Gael) III

Beltane Blessing

Bless, O Threefold true and bountiful,
Myself, my spouse, and my children,
My tender children and their beloved mother at their head.
On the fragrant plain, on the gay mountain sheiling,
On the fragrant plain, on the gay mountain sheiling.

Everything within my dwelling or in my possession,
All kine and crops, all flocks and corn,
From Hallow Eve to Beltane Eve,
With goodly progress and gentle blessing,
From sea to sea, and every river mouth,
From wave to wave, arid base of waterfall.

Be the Three Persons taking possession of all to me belonging,
Be the sure Trinity protecting me in truth;
Oh! satisfy my soul in the words of Paul,
And shield my loved ones beneath the wing of Thy glory,
Shield my loved ones beneath the wing of Thy glory.

Bless everything and every one,
Of this little household by my side;
Place the cross of Christ on us with the power of love,
Till we see the land of joy,
Till we see the land of joy.

What time the kine shall forsake the stalls,
What time the sheep shall forsake the folds,
What time the goats shall ascend to the mount of mist,
May the tending of the Triune follow them,
May the tending of the Triune follow them.

Thou being who didst create me at the beginning,
Listen and attend me as I bend the knee to Thee,
Morning and evening as is becoming in me,
In Thine own presence, O God of life,
In Thine own presence, O God of life.

-- anonymous, collected by Alexander Carmichael (1832-1912), folklorist among the Scots, and published in Carmina Gadelica (Hymns of the Gael) I.

Beltane was a holiday observed on May 1.

Requiem

Under the wide and starry sky,

Dig the grave and let me lie.

Glad did I live and gladly die,

And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me:

Here he lies where he longed to be;

Home is the sailor, home from sea,

And the hunter home from the hill.

--Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894), Scots poet and novelist

If This Were Faith

God, if this were enough,
That I see things bare to the buff
And up to the buttocks in mire;
That I ask nor hope nor hire,
Nut in the husk,
Nor dawn beyond the dusk,
Nor life beyond death:
God, if this were faith!

Having felt thy wind in my face
Spit sorrow and disgrace,
Having seen thine evil doom
In Golgotha and Khartoum,
And the brutes, the work of thine hands,
Fill with injustice lands
And stain with blood the sea:
If still in my veins the glee
Of the black night and the sun
And the lost battle, run:
If, an adept,
The iniquitous lists I still accept
With joy, and joy to endure and be withstood,
And still to battle and perish for a dream of good:
God, if that were enough!

If to feel, in the ink of the slough,
And the sink of the mire,
Veins of glory and fire
Run through and transpierce and transpire,
And a secret purpose of glory in every part,
And the answering glory of battle fill my heart;
To thrill with the joy of girded men
To go on for ever and fail and go on again,
And be mauled to the earth and arise,
And contend for the shade of a word and a thing
Not seen with the eyes:
With the half of a broken hope for a pillow at night
That somehow the right is the right
And the smooth shall bloom from the rough:
Lord, if that were enough!

--Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894), Scots poet and novelist

Scots blessing for a new year

God, bless to me the new day,
Never vouchsafed to me before;
It is to bless your own presence
You have given me this time, O God.

Bless to my eye,
May my eye bless all it sees;
I will bless my neighbor,
May my neighbor bless me.

God, give me a clean heart,
Let me not from sight of your eye;
Bless to me my family,
And bless to me my means.

--prayer from the Scottish Highlands, collected by Alexander Carmichael (1832-1912) and published in Carmina Gadelica

A Calendar of Kings

They endured a season
Of ice and silver swans.

Delicately the horses
Grazed among the snowdrops.

They traded for fish, wind
Fell upon crested waters. 

Along their track
Daffodils lit a thousand tapers.

They slept among dews.
A dawn lark broke their dream.

For them, at solstice
The chalice of the sun spilled over.

The star was lost.
They rode between burnished hills.

A fiddle at a fair
Compelled the feet of harvesters.

A glim on their darkling road.
The star! It was their star. 

In a sea village
Children brought apples to the horses.

They lit fires
By the carved stones of the dead.

A midwinter inn.
Here they unload their treasures.

--George Mackay Brown (1921-1996 ) Orkney-born poet, from Following a Lark, found at The Painted Prayerbook by Jan Richardson

Image: a Church in the Orkney Islands

Arran of the many stags,

the sea strikes against its shoulder,

isle in which companies are fed,

ridge on which blue spears are reddened.

skittish deer are on her peaks,

delicious berries on her manes,

cool water in her rivers,

mast upon her dun oaks.

Greyhounds are in it and beagles,

blackberries and sloes of the dark blackthorn,

her dwellings close against the woods,

deer scattered about her oak-woods,

gleaning of purple upon her rocks,

faultless grass upon her slopes

over her fair shapely crags

noise of dappled fawns a-skipping.

Smooth is her level land,

fat are her swine,

bright are her fields,

her nuts upon the tops of her hazel-wood,

long galleys sailing past her.

Delightful it is when the fair season comes,

trout under the brinks of her rivers,

seagulls answer each other round her white cliff,

delightful at all times is Arran!

—ancient Gaelic, anonymous, from Celtic Nature Prayers Volume 1: Prayers from an Ancient Well, ed. by Kenneth McIntosh



Image: The Milky Way over Arran and the Holy Isle, from the Daily Record