Surely sometimes it seems a single word
Will make the meaning of a summer’s day;
As lovers, separate, have dreamed they heard
The wind, the waves, the wood, with many a bird,
Tell what the stars have spelt, the loved one’s name,
To flash whose message all the East would flame,
And all the West glow gold when evening came.
Now that the Fast of Lent hath passed away,
And shines so royally the noonday sun,
Nature’s green silences all seem to pray,
As Nature’s morning voices all have sung
One Alleluia to the Risen Lord.
The copse mad-musical, the acres broad,
Seem as though they, in separate sort, adored,
With song and silence, Him Who thought them meet
To spread green carpets for His Sacred Feet,
Or cast their shade to be His prayer’s retreat.
Yea, for the world were reft of rhyme and tune,
There were no meaning in its blossoming
But for the endless Life, the Heavenly Spring,
May were a mockery then, and ample June
Doomed to grim winter. So they well may sing
Loud to their Lord, Who now comes triumphing,
Glad Alleluias through the golden noon.
Father Andrew SDC, 1869-1946
Fr Lee Kenyon