Heavy and sad the Church must go:
Full weary are her latter days, And she must hush the voice of praise While tears of penance flow. And she must fast, though by her side The Bridegroom yet on earth doth move; And fear must be instead of love For her own children’s pride. Yet, holy Mother! Lent is past: And long ago the Easter sun Into the middle sky hath run;- Wherefore this second fast? Mother! with us the Lord doth bide; Yet but a little while He stays,- Then for three dim and lonely days Why keep us from His side? He said we should not fast when He Came down to live with us below: Then, holy Mother! why forego Our ancient liberty? When thou wert in thy virgin prime, Those forty days through all the earth Thy heart did swell with festal mirth- It was thy bridal time. Talk not, my son, of early days: My precious stones were passing fair, My life was Sacrament and prayer, My unity was praise. These glories now are well-nigh past: My son! the world is waxing strong; The day is hot; the fight is long, And therefore do I fast. And ye are weak, and cannot bear Full forty days of Easter mirth: And nought is left unstained of earth, But penance, fast, and prayer. Oh! weary is my stay below; And thus with strong and earnest cry, As each Ascension-day glides by, I fain with Him would go. Then watch and fast, like saints of yore; These three new days perchance may bring The earlier advent of our King, And we shall fast no more! Frederick Faber, Cong. Orat., 1814-1863 Comments are closed.
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