Hail , Holy Queen!: September 2011

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Cardinal Newman's poems on Mary

The Pilgrim Queen

{281} (A Song.)

THERE sat a Lady

all on the ground,

Rays of the morning

circled her round,

Save thee, and hail to thee,

Gracious and Fair,

In the chill twilight

what wouldst thou there?

"Here I sit desolate,"

sweetly said she,

"Though I'm a queen,

and my name is Marie:

Robbers have rifled

my garden and store,

Foes they have stolen

my heir from my bower. {282}

"They said they could keep Him

far better than I,

In a palace all His,

planted deep and raised high.

'Twas a palace of ice,

hard and cold as were they,

And when summer came,

it all melted away.

"Next would they barter Him,

Him the Supreme,

For the spice of the desert,

and gold of the stream;

And me they bid wander

in weeds and alone,

In this green merry land

which once was my own."

I look'd on that Lady,

and out from her eyes

Came the deep glowing blue

of Italy's skies; {283}

And she raised up her head

and she smiled, as a Queen

On the day of her crowning,

so bland and serene.

"A moment," she said,

"and the dead shall revive;

The giants are failing,

the Saints are alive;

I am coming to rescue

my home and my reign,

And Peter and Philip

are close in my train."

The Oratory.
1849.

The Queen of Seasons

{287} (A Song for an inclement May.)

ALL is divine

which the Highest has made,

Through the days that He wrought,

till the day when He stay'd;

Above and below,

within and around,

From the centre of space,

to its uttermost bound.

In beauty surpassing

the Universe smiled,

On the morn of its birth,

like an innocent child, {288}

Or like the rich bloom

of some delicate flower;

And the Father rejoiced

in the work of His power.

Yet worlds brighter still,

and a brighter than those,

And a brighter again,

He had made, had He chose;

And you never could name

that conceivable best,

To exhaust the resources

the Maker possess'd.

But I know of one work

of his Infinite Hand,

Which special and singular

ever must stand;

So perfect, so pure,

and of gifts such a store,

That even Omnipotence

ne'er shall do more. {289}

The freshness of May,

and the sweetness of June,

And the fire of July

in its passionate noon,

Munificent August,

September serene,

Are together no match

for my glorious Queen.

O Mary, all months

and all days are thine own,

In thee lasts their joyousness,

when they are gone;

And we give to thee May,

not because it is best,

But because it comes first,

and is pledge of the rest.

The Oratory.
1850.

The Month of Mary

{284} (A Song.)

GREEN are the leaves, and sweet the flowers,

And rich the hues of May;

We see them in the gardens round,

And market-paniers gay:

And e'en among our streets, and lanes,

And alleys, we descry,

By fitful gleams, the fair sunshine,

The blue transparent sky.

Chorus.

O Mother maid, be thou our aid,

Now in the opening year;

Lest sights of earth to sin give birth,

And bring the tempter near. {285}

Green is the grass, but wait awhile,

'Twill grow, and then will wither;

The flowrets, brightly as they smile,

Shall perish altogether:

The merry sun, you sure would say,

It ne'er could set in gloom;

But earth's best joys have all an end,

And sin, a heavy doom.

Chorus.

But Mother maid, thou dost not fade;

With stars above thy brow,

And the pale moon beneath thy feet,

For ever throned art thou.

The green green grass, the glittering grove,

The heaven's majestic dome,

They image forth a tenderer bower,

A more refulgent home;

They tell us of that Paradise

Of everlasting rest,

And that high Tree, all flowers and fruit,

The sweetest, yet the best.{286}

Chorus.

O Mary, pure and beautiful,

Thou art the Queen of May;

Our garlands wear about thy hair,

And they will ne'er decay.

The Oratory.
1850.

http://www.newmanreader.org/works/verses/verse161.html

The May magnificat - Hopkins

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89)

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;         5
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?         10
    Is it opportunest
    And flowers finds soonest?

Ask of her, the mighty mother:
Her reply puts this other
    Question: What is Spring?—         15
    Growth in every thing—

Flesh and fleece, fur and feather,
Grass and greenworld all together;
    Star-eyed strawberry-breasted
    Throstle above her nested         20

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         25
Mary sees, sympathising
    With that world of good,
    Nature’s motherhood.

Their magnifying of each its kind
With delight calls to mind         30
    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         35
    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         40

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         45
Tells Mary her mirth till Christ’s birth
    To remember and exultation
    In God who was her salvation.

Rosa Mystica - A Poem by Hopkins

Rosa Mystica (Hopkins)

by Gerard Hopkins, S.J.

"The rose is a mystery"--where is it found?
Is it anything true? Does it grow upon the ground?
It was made of earth's mould, but it went from men's eyes,
And its place is a secret and shut in the skies.