 | Sequences, Hymns, and Other Ecclesiastical Verses |  |
I.
Listen, all ye who rejoice in a tale of the days of the Martyrs!
Listen, for that same grace which rendered them mighty in battle
Worketh from age to age. Not alone in the conquering athletes,
Dyed in their best heart's blood, when the “valiant men were in purple,”
Clashing their red-stained shields: but in that long line of Confessors,
Turning to flight the armies of aliens, Kingdoms subduing,
Stopping the mouths of the lions, escaping the blast of the furnace,
Heated one sevenfold more than before it was wont to be heated:
But in all Saints of the Lord, in Doctors and Virgins,—in all these
Wrought that effectual grace, which brought them through great tribulation.
These are not names of the past: they are leaders and guides of the present,
Teaching the way we must tread, and showing us how we must tread it;
Champions on earth of the Church and her Intercessors in Heaven.
No! nor a moment believe that, going, they left not behind them
Others to fight their fight, though changed in array and in danger.
These we have now, and shall have, fit men in fit place for their contest:
Strong in their lion-like spirits, each valiantly laying about him,
Giving and taking of scars, doing good and endurant of evil.
Listen, for that same grace which rendered them mighty in battle
Worketh from age to age. Not alone in the conquering athletes,
Dyed in their best heart's blood, when the “valiant men were in purple,”
Clashing their red-stained shields: but in that long line of Confessors,
Turning to flight the armies of aliens, Kingdoms subduing,
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Heated one sevenfold more than before it was wont to be heated:
But in all Saints of the Lord, in Doctors and Virgins,—in all these
Wrought that effectual grace, which brought them through great tribulation.
These are not names of the past: they are leaders and guides of the present,
Teaching the way we must tread, and showing us how we must tread it;
Champions on earth of the Church and her Intercessors in Heaven.
No! nor a moment believe that, going, they left not behind them
Others to fight their fight, though changed in array and in danger.
These we have now, and shall have, fit men in fit place for their contest:
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Giving and taking of scars, doing good and endurant of evil.
Listen, all ye who rejoice in a tale of the days of the Martyrs!
Listen attentlier yet; it more nearly concerns you, my Sisters.
Listen attentlier yet; it more nearly concerns you, my Sisters.
There, in the region of bliss, where the saint and the painter together
Caught, for one brief sweet space, into Paradise, saw and depicted
Him, the Immaculate Lamb, and the Five Wounds flowing of mercy,
Him, That is set in the midst, true Tree of Life in the Garden:
There are the cohorts of Saints, not confusedly mingled together,
Keeping their ranks distinct, as they loved and they conquered in this world.
Priests that were pure in the spirit, awaiting the Shepherd of Shepherds,
Meekly outfacing the proud, and as meekly absolving the sinner,
Bishops who, bearing their Cross, though concealed, in Staff or in Crozier,
Spake God's word, for they were not ashamed, in the great congregation.
Kings of the earth stand together, whose sceptres were sceptres of meekness;
Judges of right, who have long since found the tribunal of mercy;
Pilgrims who, strong in faith, looking up from Salem to Salem,
Strained to the Lord's own shrine; and dwellers in caverns and deserts.
Warriors of truth there also, who, toiling in battles of justice,
Tore from the hand of the Church the glorious guerdon of Martyr;
Widows, who yielding them up to Him That was widowed of glory,
Joyed in His comfort below, as now they reign in His Kingdom.
—Ah, but look on! Who are these, that next the unclosable portals,
Nearest the domes and tourelles, where sapphire is mingled with jasper,
Gather in one, truer lilies themselves, in the midst of the lilies?
There, and beyond such a rustling of boughs, as Paradise-breezes
Draw with a kiss from the foliage of youth,—there, bulwark on bulwark,
Rises the City that hath the foundations;
whose Builder and Maker,
Maker before all worlds—is for ever its King and its glory,
Light everlasting and pure, and the days of its mourning are ended;
Ended, how should they not be? in the great Beatifical Vision.
Dare not to ask who are these—you know it already, my Sisters;
These are your truest of friends, your own sweet future companions;
Each had the pearl in her hands, which the Prince in His love had prepared her,
Each had the pearl that you bring, and the Prince in His love will accept it.
Each in her turn heard the words whereafter can never be sorrow—
Sworn in His royal abode by the great King Ahasuerus,—
‘What is thy prayer, Queen Esther? I grant thee the half of My Kingdom.’
Why should I tell their names, as they pass by their hundreds and thousands,
All graved deep in the Hands of the Lord, of Calvary's Monarch?
Many the gems of the Church that she hath in eternal remembrance;
Why should I tell who they are; why Thecla, and Lucy, and Agnes,
Her of the snow-white lamb, and Catherine dear to the angels?
Them that were torn by the scourge, and them that defied the plumbatae,
Thrown to the lions, or racked, or exposed to the pitiless glances
Cast from the benches of stone, where the scented silk waved to the breezes.
Oh, when the King shall come, with His angels in judgment around Him,
Then shall each city bring forth with emulous joy and present Him
Jewels of silver and jewels of gold, her Virgins and Martyrs,
Relics enshrined in her earth till the day of the final Appearing;
Far as the gales can blow, or the Catholic Faith can be died for.
There in the foremost array stands happiest Andalusia,
Rich in her untold gifts; and the Province and Gallia Prima
Next to her, next but by little; then Italy, Mother of Martyrs;
Carthage, fertile in torture, but far more fertile in glory.
Caught, for one brief sweet space, into Paradise, saw and depicted
Him, the Immaculate Lamb, and the Five Wounds flowing of mercy,
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There are the cohorts of Saints, not confusedly mingled together,
Keeping their ranks distinct, as they loved and they conquered in this world.
Priests that were pure in the spirit, awaiting the Shepherd of Shepherds,
Meekly outfacing the proud, and as meekly absolving the sinner,
Bishops who, bearing their Cross, though concealed, in Staff or in Crozier,
Spake God's word, for they were not ashamed, in the great congregation.
Kings of the earth stand together, whose sceptres were sceptres of meekness;
Judges of right, who have long since found the tribunal of mercy;
Pilgrims who, strong in faith, looking up from Salem to Salem,
139
Warriors of truth there also, who, toiling in battles of justice,
Tore from the hand of the Church the glorious guerdon of Martyr;
Widows, who yielding them up to Him That was widowed of glory,
Joyed in His comfort below, as now they reign in His Kingdom.
—Ah, but look on! Who are these, that next the unclosable portals,
Nearest the domes and tourelles, where sapphire is mingled with jasper,
Gather in one, truer lilies themselves, in the midst of the lilies?
There, and beyond such a rustling of boughs, as Paradise-breezes
Draw with a kiss from the foliage of youth,—there, bulwark on bulwark,
140
Maker before all worlds—is for ever its King and its glory,
Light everlasting and pure, and the days of its mourning are ended;
Ended, how should they not be? in the great Beatifical Vision.
Dare not to ask who are these—you know it already, my Sisters;
These are your truest of friends, your own sweet future companions;
Each had the pearl in her hands, which the Prince in His love had prepared her,
Each had the pearl that you bring, and the Prince in His love will accept it.
141
Sworn in His royal abode by the great King Ahasuerus,—
‘What is thy prayer, Queen Esther? I grant thee the half of My Kingdom.’
Why should I tell their names, as they pass by their hundreds and thousands,
All graved deep in the Hands of the Lord, of Calvary's Monarch?
Many the gems of the Church that she hath in eternal remembrance;
Why should I tell who they are; why Thecla, and Lucy, and Agnes,
Her of the snow-white lamb, and Catherine dear to the angels?
Them that were torn by the scourge, and them that defied the plumbatae,
Thrown to the lions, or racked, or exposed to the pitiless glances
142
Oh, when the King shall come, with His angels in judgment around Him,
Then shall each city bring forth with emulous joy and present Him
Jewels of silver and jewels of gold, her Virgins and Martyrs,
Relics enshrined in her earth till the day of the final Appearing;
Far as the gales can blow, or the Catholic Faith can be died for.
143
Rich in her untold gifts; and the Province and Gallia Prima
Next to her, next but by little; then Italy, Mother of Martyrs;
Carthage, fertile in torture, but far more fertile in glory.
Yet not of these would I tell; we must wing our flight to the eastward:
Wing it at that same hour when the faith seems utterly ruined:
Knowing the promise of life, that was true, and is true, and that shall be;
“Here have I set my King! Be confounded, ye portals of Hades!”
Wing it at that same hour when the faith seems utterly ruined:
Knowing the promise of life, that was true, and is true, and that shall be;
“Here have I set my King! Be confounded, ye portals of Hades!”
Listen, then! ye that rejoice in a tale of the days of the Martyrs:
Listen! and say in your hearts, as we mix in the heat of the battle,
“Why do the kings stand up, and the people imagine a vain thing?”
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“Why do the kings stand up, and the people imagine a vain thing?”
| Sequences, Hymns, and Other Ecclesiastical Verses | |