Feast of the Annunciation of our Lord to the Virgin Mary Concluding a Lenten series on prayer: Prayer is read more

Feast of the Annunciation of our Lord to the Virgin Mary Concluding a Lenten series on prayer: Prayer is not a way of making use of God; prayer is a way of offering ourselves to God in order that He should be able to make use of us. It may be that one of our great faults in prayer is that we talk too much and listen too little. When prayer is at its highest we wait in silence for God's voice to us; we linger in His presence for His peace and His power to flow over us and around us; we lean back in His everlasting arms and feel the serenity of perfect security in Him.

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 At morn I plucked a rose and give it Thee, A rose of joy read more

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 At morn I plucked a rose and give it Thee, A rose of joy and happy love and peace, A rose with scarce a thorn: But in the chillness of a second morn My rose bush drooped, and all its gay increase Was but one thorn that wounded me. I plucked the thorn and offered it to Thee, And for my thorn Thou gavest love and peace, Not joy this mortal morn: If Thou hast given much treasure for a thorn, Wilt Thou not give me for my rose increase Of gladness, and all sweets to me? My thorny rose, my love and pain, to Thee I offer, and I set my heart in peace, And rest upon my thorn: For verily I think to-morrow morn Shall bring me Paradise, my gift's increase, Yea, give Thy very Self to me.

Feast of William Tyndale, Translator of the Scriptures, Martyr, 1536 Christ had given the apostles a world-wide commission, read more

Feast of William Tyndale, Translator of the Scriptures, Martyr, 1536 Christ had given the apostles a world-wide commission, embracing all the nations; but intellectually they did not understand what He meant. They found that out as they followed the impulse of the Spirit.

We are separated from one another by an unbridgeable gulf of otherness and strangeness which resists all our attempts to read more

We are separated from one another by an unbridgeable gulf of otherness and strangeness which resists all our attempts to overcome it by means of natural association or emotional or spiritual union. There is no way from one person to another. However loving and sympathetic we try to be, however sound our psychology however frank and open our behaviour we cannot penetrate the incognito of the other man, for there are no direct relationships, not even between soul and soul. Christ stands between us, and we can only get into touch with our neighbors through Him.

Feast of the Naming & Circumcision of Jesus Why does He make our hearts so strangely still, Why stands read more

Feast of the Naming & Circumcision of Jesus Why does He make our hearts so strangely still, Why stands He forth so stately and so tall? Because He has no self to serve, no will That does not seek the welfare of the All.

With what presumption have we dared to voice "Thank You for home (although we hold the deed), Our acre, trees, read more

With what presumption have we dared to voice "Thank You for home (although we hold the deed), Our acre, trees, and flowers (ours by choice), Our faithful dog and cat (though it's agreed No one can own the latter), each good book (A gift, or purchased), all else we foresaw That we should cherish, and have made to look Ours by possession (nine points of the law)." With what presumption have we called them ours, And even felt unselfish when we shared them-- When, if the truth be known, they have been Yours From the beginning, Lord! You have prepared them For us to borrow, using as our own: So thank You, Father, for this generous loan.

Commemoration of John Bosco, Priest, Founder of the Salesian Teaching Order, 1888 Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells read more

Commemoration of John Bosco, Priest, Founder of the Salesian Teaching Order, 1888 Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells That the wind sways above a ruined shrine. Vainer his voice in whom no longer dwells Hunger that craves immortal Bread and Wine. Light songs we breathe, that perish with our breath, Out of our lips that have not kissed the rod. They shall not live who have not tasted death. They only sing who are struck dumb by God.

Feast of Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, Martyr, 1170 Come down, O Christ, and help me! reach Thy hand read more

Feast of Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, Martyr, 1170 Come down, O Christ, and help me! reach Thy hand For I am drowning in a stormier sea Than Simon on the the lake of Galilee: The wine of life is spilt upon the sand, My heart is as some famine-murdered land Whence all good things have perished utterly, And well I know my soul in Hell must lie If I this night before God's throne must stand. "He sleeps perchance, or rideth to the chase, Like Baal, when his prophets holed that name From morn to noon on Carmel's smitten height." Nay, peace! I shall behold, before the night, The feet of brass, the robe more white than flame, The wounded hands, the weary human face.

Commemoration of Theodore of Tarsus, Archbishop of Canterbury, 690 If I lay waste and wither up with doubt The blessed read more

Commemoration of Theodore of Tarsus, Archbishop of Canterbury, 690 If I lay waste and wither up with doubt The blessed fields of heaven where once my Faith possessed itself serenely safe from death; If I deny things past finding out; Or if I orphan my own soul from One That seemed a Father, and make void the place Within me where He dwelt in Power and Grace, What do I gain by what I have undone?