The Inner Mysteries of the Visitation

 

The Inner Mysteries of the Feast of the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary to her cousin Elizabeth...

A Contemplative Breathing...

There are so many mysteries to be meditated upon in this most beautiful of feasts where the Divine Mysteries are revealed in the most earthly and earthy of moments and places. Two women, blood cousins, elder and younger meet across the generations in the wilderness of the hill country and in the common holding of the mysterious gift of new life, and so much is gifted to us in their meeting…

For the Visitation is the feast of Mary as the Apostle of love as Charity; 

Charity: the love that goes out, that actively seeks the other who is in need and feels the need of the other as its own need. In its ministering to the other in love becomes love even more so in itself… Mary, full of grace, full of the life of God, has only just heard her own call and yet responds immediately to the impulse to care for another… She leaves immediately and with great haste we are told, for love as charity brooks no delay. She will give the first three months of her own flowering to tending the garden of her cousin Elizabeth and helping her prepare for the birth of John… She thinks not of herself or even of the enormity of the miracle that has just been accomplished in her. In the need of her cousin for support she hears the call of God just as surely as she heard it in the words of the Archangel.

May Mary call us from our own self absorption to the Charity that generates life.

For the Visitation is the feast of the call to Spiritual Midwifery:

Mary as midwife to her Cousin… What a beautiful picture… The Archangel tells her that her cousin is six months into her journey towards birth and the scripture tells us that Mary stayed with Elizabeth for three months. Could we possibly believe that Mary left Elizabeth alone for the birth of John? Of course not…for in her midwifery of Eilzabeth she is midwifing the mystery of the birth of the Old Testament Covenant into its new life its fulfilment in the one, John, who holds in himself both the lineages of the prophets and the priesthood, and who on Jordan’s banks will lay them down in homage before the Lamb from whom they first came on Sinai’s height to Moses. 

May Mary midwife the birth in us of our own calling to birth Christ in our own life and in each moment.

For the Visitation is the feast of the mysteries of Woman…

In Mary coming to Elizabeth to care for her and serve her, God in Mary is coming to one who represents all of the mysteries of womanhood… Elizabeth had traversed all of the stages of life, she had been a girl, a young woman, a single young woman who held royal and priestly lineages in her descent and yet lived the life of a poor woman in a land oppressed by foreign occupation where it was dangerous to be a woman alone, where it was simply dangerous to be a woman at all… She had been shamed and excluded by her own people and even by other women for not fitting in, for not becoming what she was supposed to be. She had been labelled as barren, seen as cursed and as even carrying the possibility of cursing others. In Zechariah she knew the pain of loving someone but not being able to give them what they truly want… All of this pain she knew. Yet she never doubted the love of God for her or that His love would eventually bloom in her in a surprising way… Zechariah, the man and the priest doubts the Angel’s word and is struck dumb… Elizabeth, the woman, believes and bears the word of prophecy recognising in Mary the One who is blessed among women and then asks astonished “Who am I that the Mother of my Lord would come to visit me?” Who are you Elizabeth? You are Woman and God will always want to be with you and your heart that believes past man’s un-believing and He comes to you in His Mother, clothing Himself in Woman as His vestment, to reveal to you His love for you so that you may remember for ever His nearness to you in your very womanhood in every generation.

May Mary draw near to all Women and open their eyes to their intimate place in the Divine Mysteries.

For the Visitation is the feast of the mysteries of Motherhood:

In the holy encounter of Mary and Elizabeth we are reminded that all of the life that flows through the veins of humanity begins in the womb of women as they co-operate with God in the creation of life… so important is this lesson that the Divine Word Himself decrees He will incarnate only through a Mother’s yes. There is no apostle, no prophet, no saint, and we can even say in awe, no Christ, who did not come from Woman. Mary journeys through the wilderness of the high country, the hill country, the place of fear and wildness and in her Divine Motherhood she tames it. And mother Earth, long sundered from Man, finds that God walks in her garden again in Mary as mother. In her silent journeying there and back again she allows the silence of motherhood, the silent and intimate communion of Mother and child to prepare the way of the Word. She is with the Wild and the Wild receives its new Eve who carries the new Adam in awe and reverence and enfolds her contemplation in the silence of sunrises, sunsets, moonlight and star light as she travels. For everything that we will receive from Christ as a Man He received from Mary and everything that we receive from Christ as God we receive through Mary… For her mother’s yes will be just as present in the temple, in Cana, on the roads of Palestine, and on Golgotha’s height as it is in this silent journey…  

May Mary call us to reverence and respect for the mysteries of the Mother…

For the Visitation is the first feast of the Holy Eucharist:

Does this astonish you that this feast would hold in itself the echo of the greatest of God’s gifts to humanity? Mary is the first tabernacle of the Lord and she bears Christ within her in the most holy of communions as she travels. Elizabeth then becomes the first Eucharistic adorer as her wise faith beholds the inner mystery beyond the veils of sense and in her adoration receives the gift of not just her own hallowing but the hallowing of the new life that joyously jumps within her. So too when we dwell in communion with the Bread of Life is the new life of His grace quickened in us and the word of prophecy born, as contemplation begets the call to action and from silence psalm erupts in magnifying praise. And from praise we fall back into silence in the  heart-knowing know that every moment of Holy Communion begins from Mary's yes to the Divine Mystery of Love.

May Mary call us to the mystery that lies behind the veils of sense and into ever deeper communion with the One who is our Eucharistic Lord. 

Sunday of the Most Holy Trinity

 The feast of mystery... Sunday of the Most Holy Trinity... Symbols and Signs of which abound everywhere...

'Wherever you are, in every place, at every hour,

at every time of the day, every day and continually,

let all of us truly and humbly believe, hold in our heart an

love, honour, adore, serve, praise and bless,

glorify and exalt, magnify and give thanks to the

Most High and Supreme Eternal God

Trinity and Unity.

Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Creator of all! Saviour of all!

Who believe and hope in Him, and love Him, Who, without

beginning and end, is unchangeable, invisible, indescribable, ineffable,

incomprehensible, unfathomable, blessed, praiseworthy,

glorious, exalted, sublime, most High, gentle, lovable, delightful, and,

totally desirable above all else, for ever and ever. Amen' 

St Francis of Assisi

Saturday thoughts for May

 Thoughts for a Saturday of May...

Rosary

Unite 

bead with 

breath 

and being

so

awareness 

appears.

Inspiration 

ignites

Love's 

luminescence 

as

mysteries 

manifest 

in

meditation

with

the

Mother

and

then,

in heat of

Heart's 

hearth,

warmed by 

wonder,

the seed of 

silence

long planted 

in

prayerful 

possibility 

grows 

greatly

until,

in

sacred 

stillness,

the

red rose

buds,

and,

blooms

blessing.

(Pic uncredited on web)

Moon Memories

 For Sister Moon who rose so beautiful and full last night...

Moon Memories:

Once,

the Moon followed 

me home,

I know, 

because I watched her 

out the back window of the car.

Occasionally slipping 

behind trees or buildings

like a secret agent,

she kept up with us

effortlessly, 

as I strained against

the straps of my seat

to meet her gaze.

I felt her interest

and her smile,

happy to have made

a new friend.

Once, 

not afraid of the night,

but of the day 

that would follow,

I was invited 

by my Mother

to gaze on the Moon

outside our house,

and greet her as

Our Lady’s lamp

protecting all,

guiding all home,

wisdom

passed down

from her Father,

whom I had never met,

but always felt 

I knew.

He loved the Moon too,

she said.

There is hereditary

of the heart,

as well as of the blood,

it seems.

To this day

I miss her calls

that would begin always 

with

Have you seen the Moon

tonight?

For I cannot look up

at the Moon

without looking

within

too.

Once,

I spent the night

in a wood made pure

silver 

by her presence,

and felt the life in every thing

stir and sing

and dance

in a wild celebration

that is hidden from

the day.

I sat stone still

and watched 

Foxes play

about me

and a Badger

pass by like an ancient sage

busy on his own quest,

and I believed 

in magic again 

by her light.

Once,

I remember her

daytime ghost

appearing during the 

long drawn out days

of dry schooling,

and seeing her

still serenity

so far above

the awfulness

of that age

made me breathe out

a breath 

I did not even know

I had been holding

on to for years.

She felt like a friend

checking in.

We greeted each other 

then,

as we do to this day,

each noticing the other

in the blessed acceptance

of being.

Once,

Sick and fevered I rose

gasping in the middle 

of a winter’s night

and pulled back the curtain

to find her shining

over snow so newly fallen

that not a flake 

had been disturbed,

but glowed in her gaze 

cascading in curves

over a street I knew 

but saw again

for the first time,

now softened 

by snowlight’s reflection

of her blessed touch. 

I looked and looked

at this gracious gift

of enchantment’s echo

until I felt I was being 

looked at in turn

and blessed too.

In the morning,

I woke,

well.

Once,

I walked the pier

between my parents

on the night before

I left to follow

the path.

We watched her rise 

together,

in silence 

and listened to a mandolin

playing in the distance.

We did not have to speak,

the Moon sang for us,

soul songs only we could hear.

Always remember this night,

they said later.

As if I could 

do anything 

else?

Once,

Feeling bereft and lost

I caught sight of her

rising over a strange city

(Though I remember her, 

and the feelings, 

but not the city it was.)

and I did not feel lost 

anymore

How could you be lost

when you are always

under her graced gaze?.

How could you be alone

when everyone you know

and love is beneath her blessing

too?

I asked myself.

Once, 

I saw her,

loom so large

as to almost 

be alarming,

bedecked in harvest

gold and heavy seeming,

she lit the land beneath

so beautifully 

that the cattle on the hills

cried out to her, 

and the birds began their chorus

for a dawn 

that was yet hours away.

I danced in her light 

that night,

beneath the trees,

a slow sandaled

shuffle of monkish sort,

and bowed deeply 

as she passed.

How could you not?

When all around 

and within

was 

psalming

celebration

of her compline

completeness.

Once,

I watched her rise 

sickle sharp

over Assisi.

As though making manifest

the unseen divine smile

hanging in the air

over this holy place

where joy was married

to peace in the song

of brother-sisterhood.

I smiled back and felt

the saint smile too

behind it all

and wondered what

his long silent nights

of prayer

must have been like,

measured only by her dance 

across the sky

slowly revealing her face

to him,

as grace comes gently 

to fill us

only as we empty,

and so seem

to disappear 

into divine darkness

just like 

her.

For the May Full Flower Moon tonight

 The May Full Flower Blood Super Moon tonight so this one calls me....

The Path of Lady Moon.

Will you take 

the old path 

of 

the Moon?

The path 

of poetry 

and prayer;

of myth, 

and magic,

of beauty, 

and blessing,

known only to 

monks, 

and mages,

and mystics,

and mothers,

and those who 

keep the vigil

of the long small hours?

Will you sit 

beneath 

her 

golden benediction

and receive her gift of 

stillness,

as you watch her dissolve 

into emptiness 

monthly? 

Will you let her 

teach you,

and all upon

this heart harried Earth, 

to trust

in Resurrection?

Will you bask 

in her 

pure light,

that invites 

you across 

the ocean of dream

to read 

the sacred circles 

of her 

graced Gospel

inscribed by angelic art

upon her

pale pure visage,

long before 

she smiled upon 

those sleeping spouses,

newly named,

and vigilled Eden's first 

dew drenched dawn?

Will you allow 

her light

to illume your life 

with the

silent music

of the forest

when, 

vested in deepest

midnight

and filigreed

in silver, 

the leaves dance in

the liturgy

of life and offer 

their

praise in whispered

choir?

Will you let her shining

tears

wash you in their tides

and beckon you 

to walk upon

the waves from 

storm to still,

as once she shone 

upon His face

and lit His way upon 

the waters?

Will you take 

the old path of 

the Moon,

and touch there the holy 

footprints 

of the Mother 

and the Maiden

and the Queen,

whose orb she proudly is,

in royal resplendence

hung beneath her 

mantled might

and starry crown,

and find

remembrance 

there of 

all that is

and was 

and will be,

in the embrace 

of a mother

and her

son,

as the first 

gift of grace.

Look up and see

my brother,

Look up and see

my sister,

the soul sky is never 

so dark,

that

the old path of the Moon,

the path of blessing,

always ancient 

and ever new,

may not 

be taken

nightly.

Our Lady of Pentecost; the Feast of Fire

 A meditation poem for today’s feast; Mary Mother of the Church, Our Lady of Pentecost

The Feast of Fire

They came creeping, nine days hence,

Cowed and craven, so lately elated

then lost once again,

The Shepherd passing beyond the seeing of the flock.

So they shelter now, each one arriving, drawn back to the familiar

To the place before it all went wrong, 

To sanctuary, to cenacle, to supper room

Seeking a communion with Him who seems 

Withdrawn beyond the clouds of grief

Checking the locks as each arrives, 

Twelve enter and fast reseal the doors

Avoiding all eyes lest they remember and accuse

For even though absolved, the remembrance of their weakness 

Burns them still and makes them afraid.

So each takes their shadowed place and falls 

Exhausted into prayer as longing and lament,

For days seeming now lost, for nearness now only yearned for

As their fear and frantic flight comes at last to rest drawn divinely

To this place and more, gently pulled into the orbit 

Of she who is the still centre of the room, of the world, 

Of all that is made, and whose very presence is prayer, 

Is participation in oneness, in mystery, in motherhood.

A green leaf on a long wintered tree, a veiled and hidden spark, 

A dark lantern bright with flame hidden 

From all as yet but on them luminous enough 

To draw them mothlike home again and calm their cowardice 

And grief with remembrance of a promise made, 

Of an advocate, a counsellor, a witness, a teacher, a friend who follows.

So, resting in her graced gaze they sit

Until at last, empty of expectation, they touch the holy quiet 

Where grief becomes grace and the doors of the soul 

At last burst the bolts of pride to creak open and wait, 

Watching as farmers and fisherfolk both gaze upon the sky 

Knowing, feeling in their bones the first stirring of a change

Which comes this day at dawn’s first touch, 

Beginning gentle as Elijah’s breeze,

Hardly noticed but for it’s waking in tired hearts 

And souls the remembrance of gilded childhood memories, 

Of first kisses, favourite foods and strains of soul songs heard 

On the very edge of sleep,

So subtle that they feel only the change of air 

Upon their skin; or is it simply 

The first stirring of hope in hearts who ache for absence?

Now a rustling is heard, around, about, within 

As, despite their shuttered darkness

The gloom appears to lift, and in a predawn glow

They see each others faces for the first time again

Then a wind begins to catch and lift the settled sad dust of days 

Bring with it the sudden bright blessing of recall of Him 

Who called them once, and calls again and will ever call, 

Until they answer as apostles and know in Him their life and love anew.

And looking up they see now sparks, begin to fall as light as feathers from the breast Of some gentle bird who hovers over the chaotic waters 

Of their tears and restores to order their broken hearts 

Now split and open, raw and ready to receive the revelation.

Roaring then the Spirit comes, the crimson dove become a phoenix 

In pyre pinioned flighting gale, 

Now a whirlwind, a hurricane, a breath of power, 

Fiery and flaming descending from on high, 

Surrounding and filling each and all, consuming conflagration,

remaking and renewing they become a burning bush of revelation, 

A flaming brand, a gospelled sword, their once frightened hearts 

And tongues of twelve now forged anew in fire

And in their midst the One who is the holy mountain 

Shines Sinai like and is revealed herself 

As Queen and Spouse of Glory, crowned with living fire, 

The Ark of God made manifest unveiled.

Full of flame they erupt out onto the waking street their fiery eyes and hearts

Sparking understanding in all who hear, for fire knows no boundaries, 

Needs no dialects but speaks the spirit word from burning heart to heart reversing babel’s curse and shines now brightly

Upon this birthday, burnday, blessed new beginning day, 

When humankind beheld the fiery glory of their God at last 

Not upon a distant mountain but now and evermore within the heart, the breath, the flame tipped tongue where the burning Dove now dwells and for those who will surrender all remakes them too to become, 

Always, fire.

All Ascends

 All Ascends

Even the wounds went with Him,

windwards, ever up.

Points of pain, now portals,

doorways divine, our worst wedded

to grace in glory,

Like makers marks upon glittered gold,

He bears them now as blessing,

before the astonishment of angels

the amazement of apostles;

our brokenness that beat

iron into ire before God’s grace,

pricked and pierced,

hammered heavily into soft humanity

so to brand the bearer

as slave, as sinner, as sin,

a punishment for preaching peace.

But with breath and beating heart 

He arose again, 

transfigured and transforming all,

a resurrection, yes rightly, but in Him 

all rises, all shines, shimmers, shakes

free of first failure, and at last 

faithwards flys!

Upwards ever upwards 

He brings all home,

carrying the crossmarks as 

five fiery flames,

as proof of pain, 

but more so love, 

now lamps to light our way 

for world’s wilding,

heaven’s homing, 

and all humanity

at last restored in 

resurrection’s resting.

For He by dulled dark nail and 

silver sharpened spear 

our remaking redeemed, 

who now ascends to stand again 

in bright blessedness before 

the One who walked with us 

in Eden’s even light 

and all called us in 

as Adam and as Eve, 

now newly seen, 

as from our long limbo 

we are loosed by love 

and set at last anew upon 

the throne of grace,

for through Him death has died, 

in Him right has risen,

and with Him 

all ascends.

.

A meditation poem for the vigil of the Ascension, celebrated in Ireland on the 6th Sunday of Easter.

Our Lady of Fatima

Today is the 104th anniversary of the first apparition of Our Lady at Fatima to the three shepherd children Lucia, Jacinta and Franceso which culminated in the miracle of the sun in October 1917 witnessed by thousands. All over the world today is a day of celebration and thanksgiving as we remember that our heavenly mother never abandons us but returns again and again to show that she is beside each of us guiding us home and protecting us from evil. The Holy Father Pope Francis when in Fatima celebrated the presence of Our Lady who calls her children to true peace in her Son. 

She is the Woman wrapped in the Sun who points the way to the Son! 

She is the Woman of Peace calling all to the Gospel way of conversion and joy! 

She is our Queen and Mother always! 

Our Lady of Fatima, Queen of the Rosary, pray for us always that we be made worthy of the promises of Christ +

O my Jesus forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell. Lead all souls to Heaven, especially those most in need of thy mercy! Amen. 

(Pic1 is of the Shrine of Our Lady of Fatima in Church St. Friary Dublin with thanks to @bridestreetchurch for pics 2,3. Pic 4 is of a very special crucifix that was sent as a profession gift many years ago, blessed by Sr. Lucia, one of the Fatima Visionaries.)

Meadow Meaning

 An older one today but the question it asks is always new...

Meadow Meaning.

.

Shhhhh...

Look...

Listen...

Even 

the blades of grass

Even 

the flowers 

you dare to call 

weeds

Even 

the light fast lives 

of tiny buzzing 

beings

hear the call 

of Divine 

love

and give 

themselves 

totally to 

grow 

towards the 

light.

And what of 

you?

.

May Thoughts

              May Thoughts:

Even our sister Mother Earth speaks of the Heavenly Mother often and keeps her ever before us for those with eyes to see... a shadow of stone, a shape in the clouds, an angle in the crook of a tree, a turning of the head or the rising and falling of the light, these are the sermons of the earth and they always reveal her. In these gentle whisperings she is always near... always watching over us... always leading us to her Son... always calling us home... always calling us into the embrace of the sacred totality of her yes to God.

Beginning, always beginning.

Beginning; Always Beginning.

O God of beginnings 

help me to begin.

To shrug off the burdens of before.

To leave aside the anxieties of after.

To release the chains of regret.

To simply begin.

Here.

Now.

In this moment.

With you.

O God of beginnings 

help me to begin.

To gift you my brokenness.

To yield to you even my failures 

of a moment ago.

To know that our life is built with you

moment by moment,

step by often faltering step,

as you draw us daily deeper into

the fires of love and there transform us.

O God of beginnings 

help me to begin.

To begin to love.

To begin to live.

To hear your unbinding call.

To walk out into the light

of the true life you offer

beyond the tomb of time.

O God of beginnings 

help me to begin.

To shrug off the burdens of before.

To leave aside the anxieties of after.

To release the chains of regret.

To simply begin.

Here.

Now.

In this moment,

and in every moment after.

Until all our little moments fall away

and we are called into the ending

that is really the eternal 

beginning.

Holy Wonder

Holy Wonder

If you would 

be holy;

begin 

with wonder.

Go to 

the edge

places,

where sky 

and sea 

meet,

kiss,

and yield 

to 

each other 

their

horizon's touch

in shades 

of blue

and green

and grey;

gifting you 

with grace 

to be lost in

awe;

loose at last 

from

all your

wandering 

thoughts.

If you would 

be holy;

begin 

with wonder.

Go to 

the wild 

places;

the untamed 

lands, 

where eden's 

song

echoes still 

between the rocks, 

behind the trees, 

beneath the waves,

in the sighing 

of 

the breeze;

there, hear again 

the song of 

longing 

in your own 

heart,

your part 

in 

creation's chorus,

as loud as 

thunder,

as soft as snow 

falling 

on snow.

If you would 

be holy;

begin 

with wonder.

Go to 

the slow 

places 

where 

darkness 

becomes 

light 

as day 

emerges 

from

dawn, 

and dusk 

from 

day. 

Sit with 

the 

gentle 

shifting 

of the 

light, 

see the 

stability 

of its 

circadian 

dance. 

Watch 

moonrises 

and 

sunsets,

set your 

soul 

aflame again 

with 

star fire,

entering deeply 

into the

rainbowed 

covenant

of dawn.

If you would 

be holy;

begin 

with wonder.

Go to 

the ancient 

places,

and there, 

rest 

in the 

inner knowing

of your 

youth;

however 

old 

you call 

yourself,

tree 

and stone 

and sky

long lived 

before you

and

will live long 

after 

you leave.

If you would 

be holy;

begin 

with wonder.

Go to 

the inner 

places

of your own

being;

bow down

before the 

flame of 

presence

dwelling 

divinely

in your 

soul.

Come 

to the 

knowing

of 

your true name

within 

the Name;

with each 

breath

be breathed 

into the 

fullness 

of 

being

in awe, 

in delight,

in the 

graced 

gratitude

of love.

If you would 

be holy,

always 

begin 

with 

wonder.

Rosary

 Saturday thoughts for May:

Rosary

Each

day 

dawns;

a 

bead 

strung 

upon

the cord 

of 

life.

Heart holding 

safe 

within

it

a gift of

joy 

or 

sorrow,

glory 

or 

illumination,

but always,

love;

as my

little mystery

loses

self in her

greater

mystery

of 

love's 

libation

poured out

purely

in

prayer.

Her yes

inviting 

always 

a

deeper

circling 

of 

the

chaplet 

of our 

days

until life 

and 

Divine Life

become 

one 

again;

then

mothered 

into

meaning,

wombed

into

wonder,

birthed

into

being

finally,

in faith's

long

fruition,

from our

thorny

heart

a rose

blooms.

(Artist unknown)

The Path of Pebbles

The Path of  Pebbles

At dawn

each day 

begin

again

by

lifting 

the pebble 

of the 

moment.

Hold it 

with the

full awareness 

of your

senses.

Warm it 

with 

your breath,

as you smooth 

its surface

with 

compassion's

touch.

Then,

as dusk 

descends,

place it 

gently

on the 

cairn of 

experience.

Let it 

settle

there

until,

silently,

the 

deep 

rich 

moss

of Wisdom

grows,

and

Divine Love

enters,

building anew

the 

temple

of your 

being.

The May Magnificat

 The Month of May is dedicated to Our Lady and brings with it a plenitude of heavenly riches indeed! 

Our Mother is the one who in her own person brings in the One who is the Light of the World and, with Joseph as his earthly guardian, guides Him to readiness for His Mission. 

In and through Mary we receive every gift: for while the Church, and the Sacraments come to us from Christ, Christ comes to us through Mary. 

Christ, the Eternal Word is spoken into our world by Mary's word: it is through her "fiat!", her "Yes!" that we have communion with Christ. 

Salve Regina Angelorum!

Today traditionally people greeted the May sunrise and gave thanks for the first fruits and flowers of Summer by dressing the Holy Wells and the wayside shrines to Mary. In the home the May Altar was erected and fresh flowers placed there throughout the month. Consecration of homes, families and individuals to Mary’s protection took place and May processions and crownings of Our Lady’s Icons and statues were celebrated...

So however you celebrate these days may our holy Mother be with you and yours!

The poem May Magnificat by the mystic and poet Gerald Manly Hopkins puts it so beautifully;

The May Magnificat

 

MAY is Mary’s month, and I 

Muse at that and wonder why: 

    Her feasts follow reason, 

    Dated due to season— 

 

Candlemas, Lady Day;         

But the Lady Month, May, 

    Why fasten that upon her, 

    With a feasting in her honour? 

 

Is it only its being brighter 

Than the most are must delight her?         

    Is it opportunest 

    And flowers finds soonest? 

 

Ask of her, the mighty mother: 

Her reply puts this other 

    Question: What is Spring?—         

    Growth in every thing— 

 

Flesh and fleece, fur and feather, 

Grass and greenworld all together; 

    Star-eyed strawberry-breasted 

    Throstle above her nested         

 

Cluster of bugle blue eggs thin 

Forms and warms the life within; 

    And bird and blossom swell 

    In sod or sheath or shell. 

 

All things rising, all things sizing         

Mary sees, sympathising 

    With that world of good, 

    Nature’s motherhood. 

 

Their magnifying of each its kind 

With delight calls to mind         

    How she did in her stored 

    Magnify the Lord. 

 

Well but there was more than this: 

Spring’s universal bliss 

    Much, had much to say         

    To offering Mary May. 

 

When drop-of-blood-and-foam-dapple 

Bloom lights the orchard-apple 

    And thicket and thorp are merry 

    With silver-surfèd cherry         

 

And azuring-over greybell makes 

Wood banks and brakes wash wet like lakes 

    And magic cuckoocall 

    Caps, clears, and clinches all— 

 

This ecstasy all through mothering earth        

Tells Mary her mirth till Christ’s birth 

    To remember and exultation 

    In God who was her salvation.

Gerald Manley Hopkins sj

Queen of the May

 For the First of May, Our Lady’s Month and 

Lá fheile Bealtaine

Queen of the May

O Lady of the White May Crown,

who brings the greening glory,

the sun sparkle upon the waters,

and the great sap surge of ancient trees,

enfold us in your blue mantle sewn of sky,

of Swift and Swallow jewelled,

embroidered with the Blackbird song 

of bright beckoning, 

that we might sing the song of Summer with you.

O Lady of the purple dawn and evening,

whose brow is crowned with starlight

and rainbows of sudden storms arising,

shine upon us now your thrice reflected light,

lowly, and lunar, and loved by the lost,

who find in you their path, their peace, their way home again.

O Lady of the Summer Lands,

whose passing step

now warms and wakes the seed,

the bloom, the berry upon the bough,

and brings to beast and bird

the burgeoning days of nest and den,

and sweet deep secret places

of nascent newness playing,

where eternity touches time

in the ancient song of making,

for of you life itself chose its bearing place.

Bless us too with birth, with life, with long sunlit days of joy, 

that in their serried passing draw us forward 'neath 

the Sun you bore within and then, 

onward into His wondrous light,

that past and childed summers shine with still within our memories, soul sprung from innocence that only you have kept,

then keep for us as greeting kiss bestowed 

upon our final homing into holiday.