Christ’s Bounty
I pray you, Christ, to change my heart
To make it whole;
Once you took on flesh like mine,
Now take my soul.
Ignominy and pain you knew,
The lash, the scourge,
You, the perfect molten metal
Of my darkened forge.
You make the bright sun bless my head,
Put ice beneath my feet.
Send salmon swarming in the tides,
Give crops of wheat.
When Eve’s wild children come to you
With prayerful words,
You crowd the rivers with fine fish,
The sky with birds.
You make the small flowers thrive
In the wholesome air.
You spread sweetness through the world.
What miracle can compare?
BRENDAN KENNELLY’S TRANSLATION OF
AN EIGHTH-CENTURY POEM
A Thousand Welcomes
O Son of God, it would be sweet
a lovely journey
to cross the wave, the fount in flood
and visit Ireland:
The fields of Ireland I have loved
and that’s no lie.
To stay with Comgall, to visit
Caindech
it would be sweet.
A POEM ATTRIBUTED TO COLUM CILLE, D. 597 AD
Christmas is a time for . . .
Christmas is a time for celebration,
to spread love, to offer friendship, for reconciliation.
Christmas is a time for reflection,
to illuminate hope, to alleviate suffering, for communication.
Christmas is a time for happiness,
to wash away sorrow, to embrace a neighbour, for tenderness.
Christmas is a time for giving,
to accept gifts, to give thanks, for living.
Christmas is a time to cast differences aside,
to pardon transgressions, to forget grievances, to abandon foolish pride.
Christmas is a time to remember,
all the children of God who are suffering in December.
ANON
Nativity
In time it came round, the time
ripe for the birth of a boy.
Much as a bridegroom steps
fresh from the chamber of joy,
arm in arm he arrived
entwining the sweetheart he chose.
Both in a byre at hand
the pleasant mother reposed . . .
Such a dazzle of tears! – this gift
all that the bride could bring?
How the mother was struck at so
topsy-turvy a thing:
distress of the flesh, in God!
in man, the pitch of delight!
Pairs never coupled so;
different as day and night.
‘OF THE NATIVITY’ – ST JOHN OF THE CROSS
Silent Night
How silently, how silently,
the wondrous gift is given.
‘O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM’
– PHILLIPS BROOKS, 1835–1893
The Incarnation
Then He called
The archangel Gabriel
And sent him to
The Virgin Mary
At whose consent
The mystery was wrought
In whom the Trinity
Clothed the Word with flesh
And though three work this
It is wrought in the one;
And the Word lived incarnate
In the womb of Mary.
And He who had only a father
Now had a Mother too,
But she was not like others
Who conceive by man.
From her own flesh
He received His flesh
So he is called
Son of God and of man.
ST JOHN OF THE CROSS
No Strange Land
The angels keep their ancient places; –
Turn but a stone, and start a wing!
’Tis ye, ’tis your estrangéd faces,
That miss the many-splendoured thing.
FRANCIS THOMPSON, 1859–1907
Seek Yourself in Me
It was by love that you were made,
Lovely and beautiful to be.
So, though it’s true that you have strayed,
Upon my heart you are portrayed –
Soul, seek yourself in me.
In you, dear Soul, I am confined.
You are my dwelling and my home,
And even if one day I find
Closed-fast the portals of your mind,
I’ll beg for entrance when I come.
O search for me not far away
For, if you would attain to me,
You only need my name to say
And I am here without delay,
Soul, seek yourself in me.
ST TERESA OF AVILA
The Holy Bath
Blessed are those for whom grace is waiting.
When you rise up from the most holy bath
Of your new birth.
LINES WRITTEN BY TERTULLIAN BETWEEN 200 AND 206 AD