Celtic Benediction

May Christ and His Saints stand between you and harm.
Mary and her Son.
Patrick with his staff.
Martin with his mantle.
Brigid with her veil.
Michael with his shield.
And God over all with His strong right hand.

From John Birch's Faith and Worship

Celtic Prayer at End of Day

I lay my head to rest,
and in doing so,
lay at your feet
the faces I have seen,
the voices I have heard,
the words I have spoken,
the hands I have shaken,
the service I have given,
the joys I have shared,
the sorrows revealed,
I lay them at your feet,
and in doing so lay my head to rest.

From John Birch's Faith and Worship

A Poison Tree

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I waterd it in fears
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole,
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.

--William Blake (1757-1827)

Prayer of holy love

O God of love, we pray thee to give us love:
Love in our thinking, love in our speaking, 
Love in our doing, and love in the hidden places of our souls;
Love of our neighbours near and far;
Love of our friends, old and new;
Love of those with whom we find it hard to bear,
And love of those who find it hard to bear with us;
Love of those with whom we work,
And love of those with whom we take our ease;
Love in Joy, love in sorrow;
Love in life and love in death;
That so at length we may be worthy to dwell with thee,
Who art eternal love.

--William Temple (1881-1944), Archbishop of Canterbury 1942-1944

At a Calvary Near the Ancre (Good Friday)

One ever hangs where shelled roads part.
In this war He too lost a limb,
But His disciples hide apart;
And now the Soldiers bear with Him.

Near Golgotha strolls many a priest,
And in their faces there is pride
That they were flesh-marked by the Beast
By whom the gentle Christ’s denied.

The scribes on all the people shove
And bawl allegiance to the state,
But they who love the greater love
Lay down their life; they do not hate.

--Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), English poet and soldier, 1918-- killed on this day in 1918, a few short days before the war would end.



Photo: No Man's Land, Ypres, 1917.

To See the World in a Grain of Sand

To See the World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

-- William Blake (1757-1827)

Praying

It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak

--Mary Oliver, "Praying," from Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver

The Ninetieth Psalm

O Lord, thou art our home, to whom we fly,

   And so hast always been from age to age:

Before the hills did intercept the eye,

   Or that the frame was up to earthly stage,

          One God thou were, and art, and still shall be;

          The line of time, it doth not measure thee.

Both death and life obey thy holy lore,

   And visit in their turns, as they are sent:

I thousand years with the they are no more

   Then yesterday, which, ere it is, is spent:

           Or as a watch by night, that course doth keep,

          And goes, and comes, unaware as to them that sleep.

Thou carriest man away as with a tide:

   Then down swim all his thoughts that mounted high;

Much like a mocking dream, that will not bide,

   But flies before the sight of waking eye;

          Or ask the grass, that cannot term obtain

          To see the summer come about again.

At morning, fair it musters on the ground;

   At even, it is cut down and laid along:

And so it spared were and favor found,

   The weather would perform the mower’s wrong:

           Thus hast thou hanged our life on brittle pins,

          To let us know it will not bear our sins.

Thou buriest not within oblivion’s tomb

   Our trespasses, but enterest them aright;

Even those that are conceived in darkness’ womb,

   To thee appear as done at broad daylight.

          As a tale told, which sometimes men attend,

          And sometimes not, our life steals to an end.

The life of man is threescore years and ten,

   Or, that if he be strong, perhaps fourscore;

Yet all things are bit labor to him then,

   New sorrows still come on, pleasures no more.

          Why should there be such turmoil and such strife,

          To spin in length this feeble line of life?

But who considers duly of thine ire?

   Or doth the thoughts thereof wisely embrace?

For thou, O God, art a consuming fire:

   Frail man, how can he stand before thy face?

          If thy displeasure thou dost not refrain,

          A moment brings all back to dust again.

Teach us, O Lord, to number well our days,

   Thereby our hearts to wisdom to apply;

For that which guides man best in all his ways,

   In meditation of mortality.

          This bubble light, this vapor of our breath,

          Teach us to consecrate to hour of death.

Return unto us, Lord, and balance now

   With the days of joy our days of misery;

Help us right soon, our knees to thee we bow,

   Depending wholly on thy clemency;

         Then shall thy servants both with heart and voice,

         All the days of their life in thee rejoice.

Begin by work, O Lord, in this our age,

   Show it unto thy  servants that now live;

But to our children raise it many a stage,

   That all the world to thee may glory give.

          Our handiwork likewise, as fruitful tree,

          Let it, O Lord, blessed, not blasted be.

--Francis Bacon (1561-1626), from The Poets’ Book of Psalms (edited by Laurance Wieder)    

The wall

The wall surrounding them they never saw;
The angels, often. Angels were as common
As birds or butterflies, but looked more human.
As long as the wings were furled, they felt no awe.
Beasts, too, were friendly. They could find no flaw
In all of Eden: this was the first omen.
The second was the dream which woke the woman.
She dreamed she saw the lion sharpen his claw.
As for the fruit, it had no taste at all.
They had been warned of what was bound to happen.
They had been told of something called the world.
They had been told and told about the wall.
They saw it now; the gate was standing open.
As they advanced, the giant wings unfurled.


--Donald Justice (1925-2004), from Collected Poems (2017)

photo: detail from frieze at Ste. Chappelle, Paris

Irish Blessing

May you live

as long as you want,

and never want

as long as you live.