Vision of the Wounds
by VP
Posted on Thursday February 26, 2026 at 11:00PM in Poetry
Visions of the Wounds
Two Hands have haunted me for days,
Two Hands of slender shape
All crushed and torn, as in the press
is bruised the purple grape;
At work or meals Palms I see;
And a plaintive Voice keeps whispering,
"These Hands were pierced for thee."
For me, sweet Lord, for me?
"Yea, even so, ungrateful thing.
These Hands were pierced for thee!"
Thro' toils and dangers pressing on,
as thro' a fiery flood,
Two slender Feet, beside mine own,
Mark every step with blood.
The swollen veins so rent with nails,
It breaks my heart to see;
While the same sad Voice cries out afresh:
"These Feet were pierce for thee."
For me, dear Christ, for me?
"Yea, even so, rebellious flesh.
These Feet were pierced for thee!"
As on they journey to the close,
Those wounded Feet and mine,
Distincter still the Vision grows,
And more and more divine;
For in my Guide's wide-open Side,
The cloven Heart I see,
And the tender Voice is moved to moan:
"This Heart was pierce for thee."
For me, great God, for me?
"Yea, enter in, My Love, Mine own,
This Heart was pierced for thee!"
Eleanor C. Donnelly (1838-1917)
Our Young People, Volume 40, No 2 Feb 1931
The Old Church
by VP
Posted on Monday February 23, 2026 at 11:00PM in Poetry
Procession near Ploumanac'h, 1879 Léon Lhermitte (Brittany, France)
"Tis not a ship on the tossing waves
That the Old Church seems to me,
But a guide light set on a headland high
And gleaming over the sea.
Lit by the breath of Christ Our Lord,
As He sat with His friends to rest,
Where the waves of the blue Genesareth
Kissed the land that His presence blessed.
The powers of earth may chase the gleam
Of will-o'-the-whisps that fly.
But their good ships reel on the sunken rocks,
and the false lights flickering die.
But Thou, white light of the breath of Christ,
Thou shinest across the foam,
Till the shoals are past and the anchor cast
The light is the light of home.
H.H.H., in Irish Catholic
Source: Our Young People, Volumes 39-40
Devout Adress to the Holy Face
by VP
Posted on Monday February 16, 2026 at 11:00PM in Poetry
O Face Divine!
O Face most sorrowful yet so benign!
So beauteous still in grief, towards me incline!
O Sacred Eyes!
On which the weight of dreaded anguish lies,
That look must break the heart which Christ denies.
O Lips so meek!
Unless their all absolving word I seek,
Those lips one day eternal doom will speak.
O Sacred Face!
Which mortal hand has dared with prayer to trace,
Thee on my heart with throbs of awe I place.
O Face Divine!
Give me of love returned some blissful sign;
O Face Divine, in grief towards me incline.
Source: Sister Saint-Pierre and the Work of Reparation, Rev. P. Janvier
