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CATHOLIC TALES AND CHRISTIAN SONGS
BY DOROTHY LEIGH SAYERS, AUTHOR OF "OP. I."
* "Nowell, nowell, nowell, nowell,
A Catholic tale have I to tell,
And a Christian song have I to sing
While all the bells in Arundel ring."
H. BELLOC.
* And forthwith he came to Jesus, and said, Hail, Master; and kissed Him. And Jesus said unto him, Friend . . .
JESUS, if, against my will,
I have wrought Thee any ill,
And, seeking but to do Thee grace,
Have smitten Thee upon the face,
If my kiss for Thee be not
Of John, but of Iscariot,
Prithee then, good Jesus, pardon
As Thou once didst in the garden,
Call me "Friend," and with my crime
Build Thou Thy passion more sublime.
CONTENTS
Desdichado
The Triumph of Christ
Christ the Companion
[Pantas Elkyso [in Greek -ed.]]
The Wizard's Pupil
The Dead Man
The Carpenter's Son
The Drunkard
Justus Judex
White Magic
Lignum Vitae
Christus Dionysus
Dead Pan
Rex Doloris
Sacrament
Sion Wall
Byzantine
Epiphany Hymn
Carol
Fair Shepherd
A Song of Paradise
Carol for Oxford
The Mocking of Christ: A Mystery
The House of the Soul: Lay
* "Rex Doloris" is reprinted, by the courtesy of the Editor, from
The New Witness
.
DESDICHADO
* This is the Heir; come let us kill Him.
* Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning upon her Beloved?
CHRIST walks the world again, His lute upon His back,
His red robe rent to tatters, His riches gone to rack,
The wind that wakes the morning blows His hair about His face,
His hands and feet are ragged with the ragged briar's embrace,
For the hunt is up behind Him and His sword is at His side, . . .
Christ the bonny outlaw walks the whole world wide,
Singing: "Lady, lady, will you come away with Me,
Lie among the bracken and break the barley bread?
We will see new suns arise in golden, far-off skies,
For the Son of God and Woman hath not where to lay His head."
Christ walks the world again, a prince of fairy-tale,
He roams, a rascal fiddler, over mountain and down dale,
Cast forth to seek His fortune in a bitter world and grim,
For the stepsons of His Father's house would steal His Bride from Him;
They have weirded Him to wander till He bring within His hands
The water of eternal youth from black-enchanted lands,
Singing: "Lady, lady, will you come away with Me,
Or sleep on silken cushions in the bower of wicked men?
For if we walk together through the wet and windy weather,
When I ride back home triumphant you will ride beside Me then."
Christ walks the world again, new-bound on high emprise,
With music in His golden mouth and laughter in His eyes;
The primrose springs before Him as He treads the dusty way,
His singer's crown of thorn has burst in blossom like the may,
He heedeth not the morrow and He never looks behind,
Singing: "Glory to the open skies and peace to all mankind."
Singing: "Lady, lady, will you come away with Me?
Was never man lived longer for the hoarding of his breath;
Here be dragons to be slain, here be rich rewards to gain . . .
If we perish in the seeking, . . . why, how small a thing is death!"
THE TRIUMPH OF CHRIST
GOD met man in a narrow place,
And they scanned each other face to face.
God spoke first: "What ails you, man,
The you should look so pale and wan?"
Quoth man: "You bade me conquer harm
With no strength but this weak right arm.
"I would ride to war with a glad consent
Were I, as You, omnipotent."
God said: "You show but little sense;
What triumph is there for omnipotence?"
Said man: "If You think it well to be
Such a thing as I, make trial and see."
God answered him: "And if I do,
I'll prove Me a better Man than you."
God conquered man with His naked hands,
And bound him fast in iron bands.
CHRIST THE COMPANION
WHEN I've thrown my books aside, being petulant and weary,
And have turned down the gas, and the firelight has sufficed,
When my brain's too stiff for prayer, and too indolent for theory,
Will You come and play with me, big Brother Christ?
Will You slip behind the book-case? Will you stir the window-curtain,
Peeping from the shadow with Your eyes like flame?
Set me staring at the alcove where the flicker's so uncertain,
Then suddenly, at my elbow, leap up, catch me, call my name?
Or take the great arm-chair, help me set the chestnuts roasting,
And tell me quiet stories, while the brown skins pop,
Of wayfarers and merchantmen and tramp of Roman hosting,
And how Joseph dwelt with Mary in the carpenter's shop?
When I drift away in dozing, will You softly light the candles
And touch the piano with Your kind, strong fingers,
Set stern fugues of Bach and stately themes of Handel's
Stalking through the corners where the last disquiet lingers?
And when we say good-night, and You kiss me on the landing,
Will You promise faithfully and make a solemn tryst:
You'll be just at hand if wanted, close by here where we are standing,
And be down in time for breakfast, big Brother Christ?
PANTAS ELKYSO [in Greek letters: ed.]
* Be ye therefore perfect.
* You cannot argue with the choice of the soul.
GO, bitter Christ, grim Christ! haul if Thou wilt
Thy bloody cross to Thine own bleak Calvary!
When did I bind Thee suffer for my guilt
To bind intolerable claims on me?
I loathe Thy sacrifice; I am sick of Thee.
They say Thou reignest from the Cross. Thou dost,
And like a tyrant. Thou dost rule by tears,
Thou womanish Son of woman. Cease to thrust
Thy sordid tale of sorrows in my ears,
Jarring the music of my few, short years.
Silence! I say it is a sordid tale,
And Thou with glamour hast bewitched us all;
We straggle forth to gape upon a Graal,
Sink into a stinking mire, are lost and fall . . .
The cup is wormwood and the drink is gall.
I am battered and broken and weary and out of heart,
I will not listen to talk of heroic things,
But be content to play some simple part,
Freed from preposterous, wild imaginings . . .
Men were not made to walk as priests and kings.
Thou liest, Christ, Thou liest; take it hence,
That mirror of strange glories; I am I;
What wouldst Thou make of me? O cruel pretence,
Drive me not mad with the mockery
Of that most lovely, unattainable lie!
I hear Thy trumpets in the breaking morn,
I hear them restless in the resonant night,
Or sounding down the long winds over the corn
Before Thee riding in the world's despite,
Insolent with adventure, laughter-light.
They blow aloud between love's lips and mine,
Sing to my feasting in the minstrel's stead,
Ring from the cup where I would pour the wine,
Rouse the uneasy echoes about my bed . . .
They will blow through my grave when I am dead.
O King, O Captain, wasted, wan with scourging,
Strong beyond speech and wonderful with woe,
Whither, relentless, wilt Thou still be urging
Thy maimed and halt that have not strength to go? . . .
Peace, peace, I follow. Why must we love Thee so?
THE WIZARD'S PUPIL
* It was written with red and black ink, and much of it he could not understand; but he put his finger on a line
and spelled it through. At once the room was darkened, and the house trembled.
OLD FAIRY TALE.
TIME like a sullen school-boy stands
Beside the Wizard's knee,
The book of life between his hands,
And spells out painfully
The crabbed Christ-cross row,
The Alpha and the O.
His grimy fingers slowly trace
Each odd, repellent sign
In a dull fear to lose the place;
His voice, with listless whine,
Drawls through the scheduled hour
The syllables of power.
While Zeta is so like to Xi
Small thought has he to spare
For what the screed may signify,
(The Wizard in His chair
Smiles, knowing ere He look
All that is in the book).
But sometimes ill and sometimes well,
Reluctant and perplexed,
He gropes and stammers through the spell
From one sound to the next;
And when the last is read
God's Word wakes the dead.
THE DEAD MAN
ONE that had sinned against the light
Lay self-murdered under night.
There came three men and walked thereby,
And at the cross-roads saw him lie.
Said the first: "I say that this is sin,
And none may answer for him therein."
The second: "Nay, we should have seen to this;
His blood as the blood of Abel is."
The third: "It is but the common case,
The weak thing beaten in the race."
Said the second: "At length he has fall'n on sleep;"
"Now," said the first, "shall he learn to weep;"
But the third said: "If he should live again
'Twill be but as mist or a drop of the rain."
Said the third: "Well, well! let the body rest;
If soul there be, be it banned or blest."
But the second: "We'll call it 'mind unsound'
And let him be buried in holy ground."
The first said: "This is the best to do."
With his hand he hammered the ash-stake through.
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