All Soul's Day

For friends and family no longer with us, and for those poor souls with no one to pray for them, let us pray:

Kyrie eleison
Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord,
and let perpetual light shine upon them. Amen.

The Holy Card (a poem for today)

The Old Testament in Old English Literature

According to Professor Malcolm Godden of Oxford University, "In terms of quantity at least, the Old Testament was the major influence on Old English literature: it was the source for about a third of the extant poetry and for a large part of the prose."   [source]

I wonder why the Old Testament had a greater impact on the literature of the time than the New Testament did? Was it because there are just more stories in the Old Testament to allude to? Was it because they lived in a violent time, and found meaning in the accounts of the wars of ancient Israel?

The Wanderer

[Found here after a mention here]

Oft him anhaga	Often the solitary one
are gebideð,	finds grace for himself
metudes miltse,	the mercy of the Lord,
þeah þe he modcearig	Although he, sorry-hearted,
geond lagulade	must for a long time
longe sceolde	move by hand [in context = row]
hreran mid hondum	along the waterways,
hrimcealde sæ	(along) the ice-cold sea,
wadan wræclastas.	tread the paths of exile.
Wyrd bið ful aræd!	Events always go as they must!
Swa cwæð eardstapa,	So spoke the wanderer,
earfeþa gemyndig,	mindful of hardships,
wraþra wælsleahta,	of fierce slaughters
winemæga hryre:	and the downfall of kinsmen:
Oft ic sceolde ana	Often (or always) I had alone
uhtna gehwylce	to speak of my trouble
mine ceare cwiþan.	each morning before dawn.
Nis nu cwicra nan	There is none now living
þe ic him modsefan	to whom I dare
minne durre	clearly speak
sweotule asecgan.	of my innermost thoughts.
Ic to soþe wat	I know it truly,
þæt biþ in eorle	that it is in men
indryhten þeaw,	a noble custom,
þæt he his ferðlocan	that one should keep secure
fæste binde,	his spirit-chest (mind),
healde his hordcofan,	guard his treasure-chamber (thoughts),
hycge swa he wille.	think as he wishes.
Ne mæg werig mod	The weary spirit cannot
wyrde wiðstondan,	withstand fate (the turn of events),
ne se hreo hyge	nor does a rough or sorrowful mind
helpe gefremman.	do any good (perform anything helpful).
Forðon domgeorne	Thus those eager for glory
dreorigne oft	often keep secure
in hyra breostcofan	dreary thoughts
bindað fæste;	in their breast;
swa ic modsefan	So I,
minne sceolde,	often wretched and sorrowful,
oft earmcearig,	bereft of my homeland,
eðle bidæled,	far from noble kinsmen,
freomægum feor	have had to bind in fetters
feterum sælan,	my inmost thoughts,
siþþan geara iu	Since long years ago
goldwine minne	I hid my lord
hrusan heolstre biwrah,	in the darkness of the earth,
ond ic hean þonan	and I, wretched, from there
wod wintercearig	travelled most sorrowfully
ofer waþema gebind,	over the frozen waves,
sohte seledreorig	sought, sad at the lack of a hall,
sinces bryttan,	a giver of treasure,
hwær ic feor oþþe neah	where I, far or near,
findan meahte	might find
þone þe in meoduhealle	one in the meadhall who
mine wisse,	knew my people,
oþþe mec freondleasne	or wished to console
frefran wolde,	the friendless one, me,
wenian mid wynnum.	entertain (me) with delights.
Wat se þe cunnað	He who has tried it knows
hu sliþen bið	how cruel is
sorg to geferan	sorrow as a companion
þam þe him lyt hafað	to the one who has few
leofra geholena:	beloved friends:
warað hine wræclast,	the path of exile (wræclast) holds him,
nales wunden gold,	not at all twisted gold,
ferðloca freorig,	a frozen spirit,
nalæs foldan blæd.	not the bounty of the earth.
Gemon he selesecgas	He remembers hall-warriors
ond sincþege,	and the giving of treasure
hu hine on geoguðe	How in youth his lord (gold-friend)
his goldwine	accustomed him
wenede to wiste.	to the feasting.
Wyn eal gedreas!	All the joy has died!
Forþon wat se þe sceal	And so he knows it, he who must
his winedryhtnes	forgo for a long time
leofes larcwidum	the counsels
longe forþolian:	of his beloved lord:
ðonne sorg ond slæð	Then sorrow and sleep
somod ætgædre	both together
earmne anhogan	often tie up
oft gebindað.	the wretched solitary one.
þinceð him on mode	He thinks in his mind
þæt he his mondryhten	that he embraces and kisses
clyppe ond cysse,	his lord,
ond on cneo lecge	and on his (the lord's) knees lays
honda ond heafod,	his hands and his head,
swa he hwilum ær	Just as, at times (hwilum), before,
in geardagum	in days gone by,
giefstolas breac.	he enjoyed the gift-seat (throne).
Ðonne onwæcneð eft	Then the friendless man
wineleas guma,	wakes up again,
gesihð him biforan	He sees before him
fealwe wegas,	fallow waves
baþian brimfuglas,	Sea birds bathe,
brædan feþra,	preening their feathers,
hreosan hrim ond snaw	Frost and snow fall,
hagle gemenged.	mixed with hail.
Þonne beoð þy hefigran	Then are the heavier
heortan benne,	the wounds of the heart,
sare æfter swæsne.	grievous (sare) with longing for (æfter) the lord.
Sorg bið geniwad	Sorrow is renewed
þonne maga gemynd	when the mind (mod) surveys
mod geondhweorfeð;	the memory of kinsmen;
greteð gliwstafum,	He greets them joyfully,
georne geondsceawað	eagerly scans
secga geseldan;	the companions of men;
swimmað oft on weg	they always swim away.
fleotendra ferð	The spirits of seafarers
no þær fela bringeð	never bring back there much
cuðra cwidegiedda.	in the way of known speech.
Cearo bið geniwad	Care is renewed
þam þe sendan sceal	for the one who must send
swiþe geneahhe	very often
ofer waþema gebind	over the binding of the waves
werigne sefan.	a weary heart.
Forþon ic geþencan ne mæg	Indeed I cannot think
geond þas woruld	why my spirit
for hwan modsefa	does not darken
min ne gesweorce	when I ponder on the whole
þonne ic eorla lif	life of men
eal geondþence,	throughout the world,
hu hi færlice	How they suddenly
flet ofgeafon,	left the floor (hall),
modge maguþegnas.	the proud thanes.
Swa þes middangeard	So this middle-earth,
ealra dogra gehwam	a bit each day,
dreoseð ond fealleð;	droops and decays -
forþon ne mæg weorþan wis	Therefore man (wer)
wer, ær he age	cannot call himself wise, before he has
wintra dæl in woruldrice.	a share of years in the world.
Wita sceal geþyldig,	A wise man must be patient,
ne sceal no to hatheort	He must never be too impulsive
ne to hrædwyrde,	nor too hasty of speech,
ne to wac wiga	nor too weak a warrior
ne to wanhydig,	nor too reckless,
ne to forht ne to fægen,	nor too fearful, nor too cheerful,
ne to feohgifre	nor too greedy for goods,
ne næfre gielpes to georn,	nor ever too eager for boasts,
ær he geare cunne.	before he sees clearly.
Beorn sceal gebidan,	A man must wait
þonne he beot spriceð,	when he speaks oaths,
oþþæt collenferð	until the proud-hearted one
cunne gearwe	sees clearly
hwider hreþra gehygd	whither the intent of his heart
hweorfan wille.	will turn.
Ongietan sceal gleaw hæle	A wise hero must realize
hu gæstlic bið,	how terrible it will be,
þonne ealre þisse worulde wela	when all the wealth of this world
weste stondeð,	lies waste,
swa nu missenlice	as now in various places
geond þisne middangeard	throughout this middle-earth
winde biwaune	walls stand,
weallas stondaþ,	blown by the wind,
hrime bihrorene,	covered with frost,
hryðge þa ederas.	storm-swept the buildings.
Woriað þa winsalo,	The halls decay,
waldend licgað	their lords lie
dreame bidrorene,	deprived of joy,
duguþ eal gecrong,	the whole troop has fallen,
wlonc bi wealle.	the proud ones, by the wall.
Sume wig fornom,	War took off some,
ferede in forðwege,	carried them on their way,
sumne fugel oþbær	one, the bird took off
ofer heanne holm,	across the deep sea,
sumne se hara wulf	one, the gray wolf
deaðe gedælde,	shared one with death,
sumne dreorighleor	one, the dreary-faced
in eorðscræfe	man buried
eorl gehydde.	in a grave.
Yþde swa þisne eardgeard	And so He destroyed this city,
ælda scyppend	He, the Creator of Men,
oþþæt burgwara	until deprived of the noise
breahtma lease	of the citizens,
eald enta geweorc	the ancient work of giants
idlu stodon.	stood empty.
Se þonne þisne wealsteal	He who thought wisely
wise geþohte	on this foundation,
ond þis deorce lif	and pondered deeply
deope geondþenceð,	on this dark life,
frod in ferðe,	wise in spirit,
feor oft gemon	remembered often from afar
wælsleahta worn,	many conflicts,
ond þas word acwið:	and spoke these words:
Hwær cwom mearg? Hwær cwom mago?1	Where is the horse gone? Where the rider?
Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa?	Where the giver of treasure?
Hwær cwom symbla gesetu?	Where are the seats at the feast?
Hwær sindon seledreamas?	Where are the revels in the hall?
Eala beorht bune!	Alas for the bright cup!
Eala byrnwiga!	Alas for the mailed warrior!
Eala þeodnes þrym!	Alas for the splendour of the prince!
Hu seo þrag gewat,	How that time has passed away,
genap under nihthelm,	dark under the cover of night,
swa heo no wære.	as if it had never been!
Stondeð nu on laste	Now there stands in the trace
leofre duguþe	of the beloved troop
weal wundrum heah,	a wall, wondrously high,
wyrmlicum fah.	wound round with serpents.
Eorlas fornoman	The warriors taken off
asca þryþe,	by the glory of spears,
wæpen wælgifru,	the weapons greedy for slaughter,
wyrd seo mære,	the famous fate (turn of events),
ond þas stanhleoþu	and storms beat
stormas cnyssað,	these rocky cliffs,
hrið hreosende	falling frost
hrusan bindeð,	fetters the earth,
wintres woma,	the harbinger of winter;
þonne won cymeð,	Then dark comes,
nipeð nihtscua,	nightshadows deepen,
norþan onsendeð	from the north there comes
hreo hæglfare	a rough hailstorm
hæleþum on andan.	in malice against men.
Eall is earfoðlic	All is troublesome
eorþan rice,	in this earthly kingdom,
onwendeð wyrda gesceaft	the turn of events changes
weoruld under heofonum.	the world under the heavens.
Her bið feoh læne,	Here money is fleeting,
her bið freond læne,	here friend is fleeting,
her bið mon læne,	here man is fleeting,
her bið mæg læne,	here kinsman is fleeting,
eal þis eorþan gesteal	all the foundation of this world
idel weorþeð!	turns to waste!
Swa cwæð snottor on mode,	So spake the wise man in his mind,
gesæt him sundor æt rune.	where he sat apart in counsel.
Til biþ se þe his treowe gehealdeþ,	Good is he who keeps his faith,
ne sceal næfre his torn to rycene	And a warrior must never speak
beorn of his breostum acyþan,	his grief of his breast too quickly,
nemþe he ær þa bote cunne,	unless he already knows the remedy -
eorl mid elne gefremman.	a hero must act with courage.
Wel bið þam þe him are seceð,	It is better for the one that seeks mercy,
frofre to Fæder on heofonum,	consolation from the father in the heavens,
þær us eal seo fæstnung stondeð.	where, for us, all permanence rests.

¹ In J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, in chapter six of The Two Towers, Aragorn sings a song of Rohan (itself a version of Anglo-Saxon England), beginning "Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?". The song clearly comes from this section of The Wanderer. (A more strictly literal translation of "mago" would be "youth", hence "Where is the horse gone? Where the young man?" -- but since the horse and the youth appear in the same half-line, Tolkien's rendering "rider" is very hard to resist.)

A Happy and Blessed Christmas to You

John 1:1-14 (Douay Rheims)

¹ In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

² The same was in the beginning with God.

³ All things were made by him: and without him was made nothing that was made.

⁴ In him was life, and the life was the light of men.

⁵ And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.

⁶ There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.

⁷ This man came for a witness, to give testimony of the light, that all men might believe through him.

⁸ He was not the light, but was to give testimony of the light.

⁹ That was the true light, which enlighteneth every man that cometh into this world.

¹⁰ He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not.

¹¹ He came unto his own, and his own received him not.

¹² But as many as received him, he gave them power to be made the sons of God, to them that believe in his name.

¹³ Who are born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.

¹⁴ And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we saw his glory, the glory as it were of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.

Show with Haydock Commentary or the Latin Vulgate Bible

Bible passage courtesy of VeritasBible.com

Annunciation Poem

From the Annunciation, by "Long Skirts" [Hilary Flanery]

“Blessed art thou…”
Gabriel hailed,
And at that moment
The enemy railed,

For he remembered,
The garden free,
‘Tween him and the woman
Enmity.

But who the woman?
God did not tell,
Then Gabriel’s “Ave”
Shook the depths of Hell.

(You can read the whole poem here)

Candlemas

Feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary

The Presentation of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ in the Temple:

And when the days of her purification according to the Law of Moses were accomplished, they brought Him to Jerusalem to present Him to the Lord (as it is written in the law of the Lord: "Every male that openeth the womb shall be called holy to the Lord"), and to offer a sacrifice according to that which is said in the law of the Lord: "A pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons." And behold, there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon, and the same man was just and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel; and the Holy Ghost was upon him. And it was revealed unto him by the Holy Ghost that he should not see death before he had seen the Lord's Christ. And he came by the Spirit into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for Him after the custom of the law, then he took Him up in his arms, and blessed God and said,

"Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace,
according to Thy word;
for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation,
which Thou hast prepared before the face of all people,
a light to lighten the Gentiles,
and the glory of Thy people Israel."

And Joseph and His mother marveled at those things which were spoken of Him. And Simeon blessed them and said unto Mary His mother, "Behold, this Child is set for the fall and rising again of many in Israel, and for a sign which shall be spoken against (yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also), that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed."

And there was one Anna, a prophetess, the daughter of Phanuel of the tribe of Asher. She was of great age and had lived with a husband seven years from her virginity, and she was a widow of about fourscore and four years. She departed not from the temple, but served God with fastings and prayers night and day. And she, coming in that instant, gave thanks likewise unto the Lord, and spoke of Him to all those who looked for redemption in Jerusalem.

Luke 2:22-38

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

John 1:5

Today is the traditional unofficial end of the Christmas season. This Sunday is Septuagesima Sunday, the start of preparation for Lent.

Ceremony Upon Candlemas Eve
Down with the rosemary, and so
Down with the bays and misletoe;
Down with the holly, ivy, all,
Wherewith ye dress'd the Christmas Hall:
That so the superstitious find
No one least branch there left behind:
For look, how many leaves there be
Neglected, there (maids, trust to me)
So many goblins you shall see.

Robert Herrick (A.D. 1591-1674)

Haiku

Memo to ICEL from a first-year Latin student

For you and for all.
"Pro vobis et pro multis."
Hey, wait a minute!

In the Garden of the Lord

My friend Rebecca informs me that in the garden of the Lord, I am a clover and she is a wild strawberry (and there are weeds).

(Speaking of the garden...)

In the Garden of the Lord

Last night I dreamed the Master came to me and gently said,
"Beloved, lay thy cross aside and come with me awhile,
For I would have thee rest within the garden of the Lord."
And then he took my trembling hand and led me through the gloom

Until we came to where a massive gateway barred our path.
The gates were closed, but opened at the Master's sweet command.
We entered, and the shadows fled before his radiant smile.
Oh, vision rapturous, can words be found to tell how fair!
Ten thousand roses beckoned with Love's crimson hue, and round
About our feet the violets nestled in their purple grief.
A passion flower, sad symbol of his dying agony,
Entwined itself with orchids rare, fair children of the air;
While velvet pansies, clothed in royalty, together grew
With lovely, clinging, pink and white sweet-peas, and close beside
The lilies of the valley bent in sweet humility;
And everywhere the tender grass--a carpet soft and cool.

And often as we passed, the Master's hand with loving touch
Did rest upon some drooping flower, and lo! at once it seemed
Refreshed. At last we came to where a stately lily stood,
Its snowy crown uplifted like a chime of silver bells,
Whose swaying filled the garden with a fragrance sweet and rare.
We closer drew, and then I saw, alas! how here and there
A petal fair was torn and brown, as though by some rude wind
Or scorching heat. I wondered greatly at the sight, then turned,
The question on my lips,--when suddenly there rose a storm
So fierce that every flower in the garden bent its head;
And then a shower of flaming arrows, hurled by shadowy forms
Outside the garden's ivy-covered walls, rained down upon
The lilies, while I clung in terror to my Heavenly Guide.
A moment only did the storm prevail, and then I heard
The Master's "Peace, be still!" The tempest ceased and there was calm,
The wondrous light grew dim, the garden vanished,--and I woke.

The Master had not spoken thus, and yet I seemed to know
The fair dream-garden was a picture of his "little ones,"
(He neither sleeps nor slumbers in his watch-care over these).
And then the thought,--if in this garden I might choose my place,
Would I be like the rose? Ah, no! lest in my passionate zeal
To show by works my heart of love, I should forget the thorns,
Dear Lord, and wound thy loving hand! Ah, then, perhaps I would
The lily be, and sound thy blessed Truth o'er land and sea
In clear-toned eloquence. Ah! no, I might not bear the storms
That beat upon the one whose head thou hast uplifted far
Above his fellows,--and a shining mark for Satan's darts!
And thus I thought on each and all that garden's lovely ones,
Then cried, "My blessed Lord, if I might choose, oh, let me be
The tender grass, that I may rest and soothe thy weariness,--
A lowly place, safe sheltered from the wind and fiery dart,--
What rapture this--to lay down life itself beneath thy feet."

--G. W. Seibert, Sept. 30th, 1905.

Of the Blessed Sacrament of the Altar

Of the Blessed Sacrament of the Altar
By Robert Southwell, Catholic priest, martyr (1561–1595)

The angels’ eyes, whom veils cannot deceive,
Might best disclose that best they do discern;
Men must with sound and silent faith receive
More than they can by sense or reason learn;
God’s power our proofs, His works our wit exceed,
The doer’s might is reason of His deed.

A body is endued with ghostly rights;
And Nature’s work from Nature’s law is free;
In heavenly sun lie hid eternal lights,
Lights clear and near, yet them no eye can see;
Dead forms a never-dying life do shroud;
A boundless sea lies in a little cloud.

The God of Hosts in slender host doth dwell,
Yea, God and man with all to either due,
That God that rules the heavens and rifled hell,
That man whose death did us to life renew:
That God and man that is the angels’ bliss,
In form of bread and wine our nurture is.

Whole may His body be in smallest bread,
Whole in the whole, yea whole in every crumb;
With which be one or be ten thousand fed,
All to each one, to all but one doth come;
And though each one as much as all receive,
Not one too much, nor all too little have.

One soul in man in all in every part;
One face at once in many mirrors shines;
One fearful noise doth make a thousand start;
One eye at once of countless things defines;
If proofs of one in many Nature frame,
God may in stranger sort perform the same.

God present is at once in every place,
Yet God in every place is ever one;
So may there be by gifts of ghostly grace,
One man in many rooms, yet filling none;
Since angels may effects of bodies shew,
God angels’ gifts on bodies may bestow.