Tag Archives: lent

Holy Saturday

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April 8

Holy Saturday

I am not moved to love Thee, O my Lord,

By any longing for Thy Promised Land;

Nor by the fear of hell am I unmanned

To cease from my transgressing deed or word.

‘Tis Thou Thyself dost move me, — Thy blood poured

Upon the cross from nailed foot and hand;

And all the wounds that did Thy body brand;

And all Thy shame and bitter death’s award.

Yea, to Thy heart am I so deeply stirred

That I would love Thee were no heaven on high,

That I would fear, were hell a tale absurd!

Such my desire, all questioning grows vain;

Though hope deny me hope I still should sigh,

And as my love is now, it should remain.

-To Christ Crucified (16th or 17th C.),

Translated from the Spanish by Thomas Walsh

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Good Friday

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April 7

Good Friday

Jesus:

O Mother dear, didst thou but hear

My plaint of desolation,

Thy tender heart would burst apart

With grief of separation!

I am not stone, yet all alone

I hush My soul’s outcrying, —

Alone to tread the wine-press red,

To bear the pain of dying.

My lips are dumb, the night has come;

Ah! Solace I might borrow

Had I but thee to bide with Me

In this wild waste of sorrow.

Mary:

“Gentle moon and start of midnight,

Golden apples born of sunshine,

Precious pearls and jewels rare, —

All things glorious, all things shining,”

Thus the sorrowing Mother spake;

“E’en ye bright, transfigured faces,

Mourn with me for Jesus’ sake.

“Sparkle, gleam, and glow no longer:

Only moan and mourn for Him.

Shine not, shine not, weep forever,

Till your thousand eyes are dim;

For the mighty One has fallen,

And my Beautiful is slain;

In the dense wood pierced, my Shepherd, —

Weep ye, weep ye for my pain!

O most oppressed of all oppressed,

Heart of my heart, my all, my Son!

Grief’s keenest sword doth pierce my breast:

I die with Thee, my only one!

Alas! the pain is all too great,

Since, living, still I share Thy fate.

“Yes, mine Thou wert to bear and rear

Through life and light, and pain and loss;

And now, ten thousand times more dear,

I yield Thee to the cruel cross!”

-“Dialogue at the Cross,” Frederick Spee, S. J. (1591-1635)

translated from the German by Mary E. Mannix

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