University of Virginia Library


86

THE ABBOT'S PENANCE

To Father Gilbert Dolan, O.S.B.
Father Bennet, who was our Abbot,
Praised God after his habit,
Saw His love in the sun and the dews,
The dusty road and the holes in his shoes.
He thanked Him in fasting and feasting
For the greatest good and also the least thing
The moon and stars, the flowers and fruit,
The rain and wind and a bleeding foot.
He praised Him for health and for sickness,
For the oxen's strength and the lamb her meekness,
For Sleep our sister and Death our brother,
For Toil and Rest and Darkness our mother.
One day as he said, Laudate!
For figs and black bread, one of the Frate,
Vinegar-faced, bade the wine to pass,
Groaning his Deo Gratias.

87

Good was Brother Leo at fasting,
His Lent was all the year, everlasting.
He ate salt fish with a bitter face
Even on Christmas and Easter Days.
He said his Hours in the grimmest humour;
His ear inclined to tattle and rumour;
While others feasted and praised the Lord
He sat, Death's head at the festal board.
Father Bennet, who oft reproved him
After a merry fashion, yet loved him.
“Pax! my brother,” he said: “Receive
A penance from me that thy soul may live.
Pax, my Leo, who pliest unsparing
Whip and scourge past thy body's bearing.
Beware at the Great Assize to be
Lest that thy body complain of thee.
God made the body, golden and ruddy;
He made the soul and He made the body:
Nor would He the soul the body oppress
Over-much for its weaknesses.

88

I charge thee by our holy obedience
That thy body feast on this dish of pigeons.
Eat of the fruit and drink of the wine
And praise God with the ass and kine.
Praise Him now for His myriad favours,
His kind devising of flavours and savours.
Pax, my brother; now sit and eat
And praise the Giver of wine and meat!”
Fra Leo ate as the meat was bitter—
I have the story from Brother Peter—
Peter our cellarer, palate fine
For the rightful choosing of Capri wine.
Fra Leo ate: and his visage surly
Cleared, as you see it at morning early
When the sun comes out through the shrouding mist
And the hills are roses and amethyst.
As the starved body was warmed and nourished,
The pinched soul that was dry and perished,
Grew, expanded, was kind and throve;
Forsaking sourness it turned to love.

89

Bennet, our Abbot, his soul's in glory.
He hath joys eternal for transitory.
Leo, Abbot, grown round and kind,
Praises God with an equal mind.