Ex More Docti mystico
by VP
Posted on Thursday February 04, 2021 at 11:00PM in Poetry
Again the fast we greet,
Which in its mystic circle moves
Of forty days complete.
Henceforth more sparing let us be
Of food, of words, of sleep ;
Henceforth beneath a stricter guard
The roving senses keep.
And let us shun whatever things
Distract the careless heart,
And let us shut our souls against
The tyrant tempter's art.
And weep before the Judge and strive
His vengeance to appease.
Saying to Him with contrite voice
Upon our bended knees :
Much have we sinned, O Lord ; and still
We sin each day we live ;
Yet look in pity from on high,
And of Thy grace forgive.
Remember that we still are Thine,
Though of a fallen frame ;
And take not from us in Thy wrath
The glory of Thy name.
Undo past evil ; grant us, Lord,
More grace to do aright ;
So may we now and ever find
Acceptance in Thy sight.
A Prayer for the New Year
by VP
Posted on Thursday December 31, 2020 at 11:00PM in Poetry
The Lord Preserve thy going out;
The Lord preserve thy coming in;
His angels guard thee round about
To keep thy soul from every sin;
And when thy going out is done;
And when thy coming in is o'er;
When in the dear and hallowed place
Thy feet can come and go no more,
The Lord preserve thy going out
From this fair world, from friends,and kin,
While angels standing round about Sing,
God preserve thy coming in.
Source: Young People, 1916
Devout Adress to the Holy Face
by VP
Posted on Monday December 14, 2020 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
Devotion to the Holy Face
by VP
Posted on Tuesday October 27, 2020 at 12:00AM in Poetry
The principal object of the devotion to the Holy Face is to offer respectful love and homage to the Adorable Face of Jesus disfigured in the Passion; to make reparation for blasphemy and the neglect of Holy Days, which outrages Him afresh; and, lastly, to obtain of God the conversion of sinners and profaners of the Holy Day,
Holy Face
by VP
Posted on Tuesday October 20, 2020 at 10:23AM in Poetry
I salute, adore, and love Thee, O Jesus, my Savior, covered anew with outrages by blasphemers, and I offer Thee, through the heart of Thy blessed Mother, the worship of all the Angels and Saints, as an incense and a perfume of sweet odor, most humbly beseeching Thee, by the virtue of Thy Sacred Face, to repair and renew in me and in all men Thy image disfigured by sin. Amen
Source: Veronica, or the Holy Face of Our Lord Jesus Christ 1871
The Priest and the Altar
by VP
Posted on Monday October 05, 2020 at 12:00AM in Poetry
Enough the blood of victims flowed of old,
The shadows pass, and legal offerings;
Now higher Ministries, Thou, Lord, dost mold,
On which a holier shade Thy Priesthood flings.
Elias from the Heavens called down the flame;
One Greater than Elias, hid from sight,
Is here, obedient to His awful Name;
Of Him we make the dread memorial Rite.
Great Office, the mysterious Cup to bear,
In which the guilty world’s Salvation lies,
And with our trembling hands, full of deep fear,
To offer up the Bloodless Sacrifice.
Oh, more than all to ancient Prophets given,
More than to Angels, if but understood,
That in our trembling hands the God of Heaven
Doth give Himself to be our Spirits’ Food.
Grant, Christ, that we, fulfilling Thy Commands,
Of Thy blest Presence may approach the Seat,
With hearts by Thee made pure, and holy hands;
May love for Thy dread Altars make us meet.
Son of th’Eternal Father, God above,
May all the world beneath Thy Feet adore,
Who sendest down the Spirit, with Thy Love
Thy Priesthood to anoint for evermore.
Source: Lyra Eucharistica : hymns and verses on the Holy Communion, ancient and modern ; with other poems by Shipley, Orby, 1832-1916
Month of the Seven Dolors, The School of Sorrow.
by VP
Posted on Friday September 04, 2020 at 12:11PM in Poetry
I sat in the school of sorrow, The Master was teaching there; But my eyes were dim with weeping, And my heart was full of care. Instead of looking upward, And seeing His face Divine So full of the tenderest pity For weary hearts like mine. I only thought of the burdens, The cross that before me lay, So hard and heavy to carry That it darkened the light of day. So, I could not learn my lesson, And say, Thy will be done; And the Master came not near me As the weary hours went on. At last in my weary sorrow, I looked from the cross above, And I saw the Master watching With a glance of tender love. He turned to the cross before me, And I thought I heard Him say: "My child, thou must bear thy burden And learn thy task to-day. I may not tell the reason, ' Tis enough for thee to know That I, the Master, am teaching, And give this cup of woe." So I stooped to that weary sorrow; One look at that face Divine Had given me power to trust Him, And say, " Thy will, not mine." And thus I learnt my lesson, Taught by the Master alone; He only knows the tears I shed, But He has wept His own. And from them comes a brightness Straight from the Home above, Where the School Life will be ended, And the cross will show the love.
Lines on a Deceased Priest
by VP
Posted on Wednesday September 02, 2020 at 12:45AM in Poetry
Breathe not his honored name,
Silently keep it.
Hushed be the saddening theme,
In secrecy weep it.
Call not a warmer flow
To eyes that are aching:
Wake not a deeper throe
In hearts that are breaking.
Oh! “tis a placid rest;
Who could deplore it?
Trance of the pure and blest,
Angels watch o’er it!
Sleep of his mortal night,
Sorrow can’t break it;
Heaven’s own morning light
Alone shall awake it.
Noble thy course is run;
Splendour is round it.
Bravely thy fight is won,
Freedom hath crowned it
In the high warfare
Of heaven grown hoary,
Thou art gone like the summer sun,
Shrouded in glory.
Twine, twine the victor’s wreath,
Spirits that meet him!
Sweet songs of triumph breather,
Seraphs that greet him!
From his high resting-place
Who shall him sever?
With his God, face to face,
Leave him forever.
Source: Messenger of the Sacred Heart, 1891.