Canticle of Creation

O Most High, all-powerful, good Lord God,

   to you belong praise, glory,
   honour and all blessing.
Be praised, my Lord, for all your creation
   and especially for our Brother Sun,
   who brings us the day and the light;
   he is strong and shines magnificently.
   O Lord, we think of you when we look at him.
Be praised, my Lord, for Sister Moon,
   and for the stars
   which you have set shining and lovely
   in the heavens.
Be praised, my Lord,
   for our Brothers Wind and Air
   and every kind of weather
   by which you, Lord,
   uphold life in all your creatures.
Be praised, my Lord, for Sister Water,
   who is very useful to us,
   and humble and precious and pure.
Be praised, my Lord, for Brother Fire,
   through whom you give us light in the darkness:
   he is bright and lively and strong.
Be praised, my Lord,
   for Sister Earth, our Mother,
   who nourishes us and sustains us,
   bringing forth
   fruits and vegetables of many kinds
   and flowers of many colours.
Be praised, my Lord,
   for those who forgive for love of you;
   and for those
   who bear sickness and weakness
   in peace and patience
   - you will grant them a crown.
Be praised, my Lord, for our Sister Death,
   whom we must all face.
   I praise and bless you, Lord,
   and I give thanks to you,
   and I will serve you in all humility.

--attributed to St. Francis of Assisi (ca 1181-1226)

Leavetaking

Nearing the start of that mysterious last season
Which brings us to the close of the other four,
I’m somewhat afraid and don’t know how to prepare
So I will praise you.

I will praise you for the glaze on buttercups
And for the pearly scent of wild fresh water
And the great crossbow shapes of swans flying over
With that strong silken threshing sound of wings
Which you gave them when you made them without voices.

And I will praise you for crickets.
On starry autumn nights
When the earth is cooling
Their rusty diminutive music
Repeated over and over
Is the very marrow of peace.

And I praise you for crows calling from treetops
The speech of my first village,
And for the sparrow’s flash of song
Flinging me in an instant
The joy of a child who woke
Each morning to the freedom
Of her mother’s unclouded love
And lived in it like a country.

And I praise you that from vacant lots
From only broken glass and candy wrappers
You raise up the blue chicory flowers.

I thank you for that secret praise
Which burns in every creature,
And I ask you to bring us to life
Out of every sort of death

And teach us mercy.

--Anne Porter (1911-2011), Roman Catholic poet, from Living Things: Collected Poems

Praise Song at Dawn

Loving Creator,

we rise from our rest to sing your praise,
joining the world You have made holy
through your hands, O God.

The coyotes are back in their dens,
after antagonizing the farm dogs all night;
the barred owls have paused their conversation
under the lacy veil of heaven at sun rise;
katydid, tree frog, and cricket have raised their song
and filled the night with the throb of their praise:
now it is time for us to lift our hearts
and join in the love song of the Earth for our Maker.

Almighty One, this moment is your gift to us, too:
let us use it to center ourselves in your grace.
Let us in our prayer give thanks
for all your blessings to us,
especially this fragile Earth:
may we seek to mend and heal
the frayed cords that bind us to all creation,
and see with new eyes the beauty and completeness
in a drop of rain or sparkle of dew.

The Earth beneath our feet
is your gift to all that lives,
to animal, tree, and stream: all creation is holy.
May we care for each other with tenderness and unity,
walking in the healing path that Jesus invites us to follow.
Tune our hearts to always hear
the echo of our Savior’s laughter and empathy
through the air that still carries the imprint
of his breath and blessing.

Spirit of the Living God,
spread your wings over us
that we may be strengthened to joyfully greet this day,
and grant your peace to all for whom we pray.

Amen.

-- Leslie Barnes Scoopmire. This was first published at Episcopal Journal's Speaking to the Soul on September 1, 2022.

Gloria

The whole world is full of glory:

Here is the glory of created things,
the earth and the sky,
the sun and the moon,
the stars and the vast expanses:

Here is the fellowship
with all that was created,
the air and the wind,
cloud and rain,
sunshine and snow:

All life like the bubbling of a flowing river
and the dark currents of the depths of the sea
is full of glory.

The white waves of the breath of peace
on the mountains,
and the light striding
in the distances of the sea.

The explosion of the dawn wood-pigeons
and the fie of the sunset doves,
sheep and cattle at their grazing,
the joy of countless creeping things
as they blossom,
spider and ant
of nimble disposition
proclaim the riches of goodness.

The curse of life is to err.

The meadows and the yellow corn,
the slopes of the grape clusters,
the sweetness of the apple tree's fruit:

The provision on the tray
of the warm comely seasons
a part of each hard beginning:

The discretion that insists on respect
for all our partners —
all the creatures of our day
and our life in the world for ever.

Every land, every language,
became bread and wine:

Every labour,
railway stations,
bus stops
at the beginning of journeys,
every aviation:

Every art
under its own fig tree —
the vision of a man and a maid.
Lest treating
the misunderstanding between man
and his world, becomes
a giving way to meaninglessness:

And perchance we shall see the dancing
in the halls of the atoms
and the meddling with their temperament
as an art of the soul.

The coal in the bowels of the vale,
the clear water of the valleys
and the energy of machines' atmosphere:

The secret of fresh airs —
old meanings a cold well:

The delicate breeze
like the sun on the seagull's belly
awakening wings

All beneficiaries
(unless we spit the original terror of sin on it all)
resounded the Gloria of praise.

--Euros Bowen (1904-1988), Welsh poet and Anglican priest, translated from the Welsh by Cynthia and Saunders Davies.

O Virtus Sapientiae / O Moving Force of Wisdom

O moving force of Wisdom, encircling the wheel of the cosmos,
Encompassing all that is, all that has life,
in one vast circle.
You have three wings: The first unfurls aloft
in the highest heights.
The second dips its way dripping sweat on the Earth.
Over, under, and through all things whirls the third.
Praise to you, O Wisdom worthy of praise!

--Hildegard von Bingen (1098-1179), German mystic, poet, musician, Abbess, monastic and philosopher, whose feast day is today.

Saints Bowing in the Mountains

Do you know how beautiful you are? 

I think not, my dear.

For as you talk of God,
I see great parades with wildly colorful bands 

Streaming from your mind and heart, 

Carrying wonderful and secret messages
To every corner of this world.

I see saints bowing in the mountains 

Hundreds of miles away
To the wonder of sounds
That break into light

From your most common words.

Speak to me of your mother, 

Your cousins and your friends.

Tell me of squirrels and birds you know. 

Awaken your legion of nightingales - 

Let them soar wild and free in the sky

And begin to sing to God. 

Let's all begin to sing to God!

Do you know how beautiful you are? 

I think not, my dear,

Yet Hafiz
Could set you upon a Stage 

And worship you forever!

--Hafiz of Shiraz (1310-1390), one of the greatest Persian lyric poets

Laughter

What is laughter? 

What is laughter?
It is God waking up! 

O it is God waking up! 

It is the sun poking its sweet head out

From behind a cloud
You have been carrying too long,
Veiling your eyes and heart.

It is Light breaking ground for a great Structure 

That is your Real body- called Truth.

It is happiness applauding itself and then taking flight 

To embrace everyone and everything in this world.

Laughter is the polestar
Held in the sky by our Beloved, 

Who eternally says,

"Yes, dear ones, come this way, 

Come this way toward Me and Love!

Come with your tender mouths moving
And your beautiful tongues conducting songs
And with your movements - your magic movements 

Of hands and feet and glands and cells - Dancing!

Know that to God's Eye,
All movement is a Wondrous Language, 

And Music - such exquisite, wild Music!"

O what is laughter, Hafiz?
What is this precious love and laughter 

Budding in our hearts?

It is the glorious sound 

Of a soul waking up!

--Hafiz of Shiraz (1310-1390), Sufi, and one of the greatest Persian lyric poets

Morning Hymn

Christ, whose glory fills the skies, 
Christ, the true, the only light,
Sun of Righteousness, arise, 
Triumph o’er the shades of night: 
Day-spring from on high, be near: 
Day-star, in my heart appear.

Dark and cheerless is the morn 
Unaccompanied by thee, 
Joyless is the day’s return, 
Till thy mercy’s beams I see; 
Till thy inward light impart, 
Glad my eyes, and warm my heart. 

Visit then this soul of mine,
Pierce the gloom of sin, and grief, 
Fill me, Radiancy Divine, 
Scatter all my unbelief, 
More and more thyself display, 
Shining to the perfect day.

- Charles Wesley (17907-1788), Anglican priest, poet, and musician, and one of the founders of Methodism

Related Scripture: Psalm 15, Epiphany 4A

The Morning-Watch

O joys! infinite sweetness! with what flow’rs 
And shoots of glory my soul breaks and buds! 
All the long hours 
Of night, and rest, 
Through the still shrouds 
Of sleep, and clouds,
This dew fell on my breast;
Oh, how it bloods
And spirits all my earth! Hark! In what rings 
And hymning circulations the quick world 
Awakes and sings; 
The rising winds
And falling springs,
Birds, beasts, all things
Adore him in their kinds. 
Thus all is hurl’d 
In sacred hymns and order, the great chime
And symphony of nature. Prayer is 
The world in tune, 
A spirit voice,
And vocal joys
Whose echo is heav’n’s bliss. 
O let me climb
When I lie down!The pious soul by night
Is like a clouded star whose beams, though said 
To shed their light
Under some cloud,
Yet are above,
And shine and move
Beyond that misty shroud.
So in my bed,
That curtain’d grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide
My lamp and life, both shall in thee abide.

--Henry Vaughan (1621-1695) Welsh poet and inspiration for the Oxford Movement

Caedmon's Hymn

Nu sculon herigean      heofonrices Weard 
Meotodes meahte      and his modgepanc, 
weorc Wuldor-Fæder,      swa he wundra gehwæs 
ece Drihten      or onstealde 
He ærest sceop      ielda bearnum 
Heofon to hrofe      halig Scyppend 
ða middangeard      moncynnes Weard, 
ece Drihten      æfter teode 
firum foldan      Frea ælmihtig

Now we ought to praise     the Guardian of the heavenly kingdom,
The might of the Creator     and his conception,
The work of the glorious Father,     as he of each of the wonders,
Eternal Lord,     established the beginning.
He first created     for the sons of men
Heaven as a roof,     holy Creator;
Then the middle-earth,     the Guardian of mankind,
The eternal Lord,     afterwards made
The earth for men,     the Lord almighty.

--Caedmon ( 7th Century CE) monk of Whitby and former cowherd who was commanded in a dream to "sing to me the beginning of all things," acclaimed as one of the greatest English poets of his age by the Venerable Bede, written between 658 and 680 CE, translated from Old English by Elaine Traherne.

A different translation is offered here:

Praise we the fashioner now of Heaven's fabric,
The majesty of his might and his mind's wisdom,
Work of the world-warden, worker of all wonders,
How he the Lord of Glory everlasting
wrought first for the race of men Heaven as a roof-tree,
Then made he middle-earth to be their mansion.


Photo: Whitby Abbey ruins, Whitby, from the British Library

Praise Song for a Bright Winter's Day

As morning light gilds the heavens,
drawing an azure veil over the dancing stars,
we praise you, O God.

As noonday sun makes shadows disappear,
we think of your steadfast love beside us,
through whatever may come,
and we praise you, O God.

Though winter chill abides with us still,
we hear the whispered promise of spring
as the dry branches murmur their secret
of abundant green life rising, surging,
deep within their veins,
and we wonder in awe of your mysteries,
O Lord of Creation.

As evening sets the sky alight,
catching fire to the wingtips of darting sparrows
whose trills of joy stir an echo of hope
even within the winter heart,
we remember your tender care, O Holy One,
your watchful eye on the smallest creature,
and we praise your steadfast lovingkindness.

Even as the shoulder of Earth
turns toward night with a sigh,
like a sleeper settling deeper into dreams,
so we too rest secure, Blessed Savior,
within the bounds of your mercy,
and ask for your healing hand
to rest upon the brow of all for whom we pray
by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

--LKS, February 8, 2019

Thanksgiving With No Thought of Ourselves

"Above all, at the Holy Communion let us not only seek blessings, but rise on the wings of worship to the throne of the eternal God. It is a thousand pities that our reformers put the Prayer of Humble Access where they did. No doubt it expresses the humiliation which must follow on the vision of God to which we are summoned in the Sanctus; but it cuts short the moment of exultation and brings us to the Act of Consecration in the mood of suppliants rather than in exultant adoration of our Holy Father, the Almighty and Everlasting God. But there the great words are; let us take care to mean them with profound intention and revel in their praise. Let us rise again to the sublimity of the Gloria in Excelsis. Most of our thanksgivings are for mercies bestowed on us; but here is a thanksgiving with no thought of ourselves at all: “We give thanks to thee for thy great glory.” 


-- William Temple, 110th Archbishop of Canterbury, whose feast day is today, from Fellowship With God, chapter 5, "The Eternal God," 1920.

Be

Lost 
On a painted sky 
Where the clouds are hung 
For the poet's eye 
You may find him 
If you may find him 

There 
On a distant shore 
By the wings of dreams 
Through an open door 
You may know him 
If you may 

Be 
As a page that aches for words 
Which speaks on a theme that's timeless 
While the One God will make for your day 
Sing 
As a song in search of a voice that is silent 
And the Sun God will make for your way 

And we dance 
To a whispered voice 
Overheard by the soul 
Undertook by the heart 
And you may know it 
If you may know it 

While the sand 
Would become the stone 
Which begat the spark 
Turned to living bone 
Holy, holy 
Sanctus, sanctus 

Be 
As a page that aches for word 
Which speaks on a theme that is timeless 
While the One God will make for your day 

Sing 
As a song in search of a voice that is silent 
And the One God will make for your day

-- Neil Diamond (1941- ), American singer-songwriter, from the Grammy-Award winning soundtrack to the movie Jonathan Livingston Seagull, 1973

(When I was 9, my mother took me to see this movie, and this song and scene left a very deep impression on me. This remains one of my favorite Neil Diamond songs of all time, and the lyrics are beautiful.)

Praise the Rain

Praise the rain; the seagull dive
The curl of plant, the raven talk—
Praise the hurt, the house slack
The stand of trees, the dignity—
Praise the dark, the moon cradle
The sky fall, the bear sleep—
Praise the mist, the warrior name
The earth eclipse, the fired leap—

Praise the backwards, upward sky
The baby cry, the spirit food—
Praise canoe, the fish rush
The hole for frog, the upside-down—
Praise the day, the cloud cup
The mind flat, forget it all—

Praise crazy. Praise sad.
Praise the path on which we're led.
Praise the roads on earth and water.
Praise the eater and the eaten.
Praise beginnings; praise the end.
Praise the song and praise the singer.

Praise the rain; it brings more rain.
Praise the rain; it brings more rain.

-- Joy Harjo (1951- ), Native American (Muskogee/Creek) poet and musician

Uvavnuk Shaman Song (untitled)

The great sea
frees me, moves me,
as a strong river carries a weed.
Earth and her strong winds move me, take me away,
and my soul is swept up in joy.

-- anonymous shaman, Uvavnuk (Iglulik Eskimo, 19th century), translated by Jane Hirshfield

Photo: undated, Inuit in kayaks.

We Adore You

We adore You, Framer of the Universe;
Governor, Disposer, Keeper;
You on whom all things depend;
Mind of the world;
You from whom all things spring;
You by whose spirit we live;
the Divine Spirit diffused through all;
God supremely powerful,
always present,
above all other powers:
we adore you.

-- Seneca (4 BCE-65 CE), Roman Stoic philosopher, political leader, and playwright

A List of Praises

Give praise with psalms that tell the trees to sing,
Give praise with Gospel choirs in storefront churches,
Mad with the joy of the Sabbath,
Give praise with the babble of infants, who wake with the sun,
Give praise with children chanting their skip-rope rhymes,
A poetry not in books, a vagrant mischievous poetry
living wild on the Streets through generations of children. 

Give praise with the sound of the milk-train far away
With its mutter of wheels and long-drawn-out sweet whistle
As it speeds through the fields of sleep at three in the morning,
Give praise with the immense and peaceful sigh
Of the wind in the pinewoods,
At night give praise with starry silences.

Give praise with the skirling of seagulls
And the rattle and flap of sails
And gongs of buoys rocked by the sea-swell
Out in the shipping-lanes beyond the harbor.
Give praise with the humpback whales,
Huge in the ocean they sing to one another.

Give praise with the rasp and sizzle of crickets, katydids and cicadas, 
Give praise with hum of bees,
Give praise with the little peepers who live near water.
When they fill the marsh with a shimmer of bell-like cries
We know that the winter is over. 

 Give praise with mockingbirds, day’s nightingales.
Hour by hour they sing in the crepe myrtle
And glossy tulip trees
On quiet side streets in southern towns.

Give praise with the rippling speech
Of the eider-duck and her ducklings
As they paddle their way downstream
In the red-gold morning
On Restiguche, their cold river,
Salmon river,
Wilderness river.

Give praise with the whitethroat sparrow.
Far, far from the cities,
Far even from the towns,
With piercing innocence
He sings in the spruce-tree tops,
Always four notes
And four notes only.

Give praise with water,
With storms of rain and thunder
And the small rains that sparkle as they dry,
And the faint floating ocean roar
That fills the seaside villages,
And the clear brooks that travel down the mountains

And with this poem, a leaf on the vast flood,
And with the angels in that other country.

--Anne Porter (1911-2011), American poet, from Living Things, 2006

The First of May

Now the smallest creatures, who do not know they have names,
In fields of pure sunshine open themselves and sing.
All over the marshes and in the wet meadows,
Wherever there is water, the companies of peepers
Who cannot count their numbers, gather with sweet shouting.
And the flowers of the woods who cannot see each other
Appear in perfect likeness of one another
Among the weak new shadows on the mossy places.

Now the smallest creatures, who do know themselves by heart,
With all their tender might and roundness of delight
Spending their colors, their myriads and their voices
Praise the moist groung and every winking leaf,
And the new sun that smells of the new streams.

--Anne Porter (1911-2011), American poets, from Living Things: Collected Poems, 2006

Photo: detail of a door at La Sagrada Familia, Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain.

Many and Great (Dakota Hymn)

Many and great, O God, are thy works,
maker of earth and sky;
thy hands have set the heavens with stars;
thy fingers spread the mountains and plains.
Lo, at thy word the waters were formed;
deep seas obey thy voice.

Grant unto us communion with thee,
thou star-abiding one;
come unto us and dwell with us;
with thee are found the gifts of life.
Bless us with life that has no end,
eternal life with thee.

Wakantanka taku nitawa
tankaya qaota;
mahpiya kin eyehnake ca,
makakin he duowanca.
Mniowanca sbeya wanke cin,
hena ovakihi.

--Lacquiparle by Joseph r. Renville (1942) paraphrased by R. Phillip Frazier (1929). Alt. Hymnal 1982, Hymn 385, from Daily Prayer for All Seasons, published by the General Convention of the Episcopal Church, 2014, p. 120.


Photo: The Milky Way above Monument Valley.

Psalm

I will do all I can to be worthy of Thee O Lord.
It all has to do with it.
Thank you God.
Peace.
There is none other.
God is. It is so beautiful.
Thank you God. God is all.
Help us to resolve our fears and weaknesses.
Thank you God.
In You all things are possible.
We know. God made us so.
Keep your eye on God.
God is. He always was. He always will be.
No matter what…it is God.
He is gracious and merciful.
It is most important that I know Thee.
Words, sounds, speech, men, memory, thoughts,
fears and emotions – time – all related …
all made from one … all made in one.
Blessed be His name.
Thought waves – heat waves-all vibrations –
all paths lead to God. Thank you God.

His way … it is so lovely … it is gracious.
It is merciful – thank you God.
One thought can produce millions of vibrations
and they all go back to God … everything does.
Thank you God.
Have no fear … believe … thank you God.
The universe has many wonders. God is all. His way … it is so wonderful.
Thoughts – deeds – vibrations, etc.
They all go back to God and He cleanses all.
He is gracious and merciful…thank you God.
Glory to God … God is so alive.
God is.
God loves.
May I be acceptable in Thy sight.
We are all one in His grace.
The fact that we do exist is acknowledgement of Thee O Lord.
Thank you God.
God will wash away all our tears …
He always has …
He always will.
Seek Him everyday. In all ways seek God everyday.
Let us sing all songs to God
To whom all praise is due … praise God.
No road is an easy one, but they all
go back to God.
With all we share God.
It is all with God.
It is all with Thee.
Obey the Lord.
Blessed is He.
We are from one thing … the will of God … thank you God.
I have seen God – I have seen ungodly –
none can be greater – none can compare to God.
Thank you God.
He will remake us … He always has and He always will.
It is true – blessed be His name – thank you God.
God breathes through us so completely …
so gently we hardly feel it … yet,
it is our everything.
Thank you God.
ELATION-ELEGANCE-EXALTATION
All from God.
Thank you God. Amen.

--John Coltrane, American jazz musician and composer, from A Love Supreme, 1964