jakefrost469-dxcmr

Tag: saint

  • Saint Cuthman at Penfold’s Field

    From my book A Craftsman at Play in Creation

    “Laugh man, weep Heaven,”
    Said aloud the saint,
    When at a widow’s sorrow,
    They laughed without restraint

    The sorrow of widows and the poor
    They scorned and made their sport,
    Those in Penfold’s Field who mowed,
    And feared not Heaven’s court

    But their laughter quickly faded
    When from a sky of blue
    Torrents of rain descended
    To ruin the crop that grew

    The bounty they had expected
    All suddenly was gone
    While the poor man who had spoken
    Drew the widow on

    The widow who was his mother
    And crippled, no more could walk,
    And her son who was a poor man
    Pulled her handcart while they talked

    Of the glories of their Maker,
    And the blessings from their God,
    Even while in poverty
    A lonely road they trod

    For he who was a poor man
    Also was a saint
    And bore the crosses he’d been given
    In joy without complaint

    And always filled with love for God,
    And the beauties of creation,
    Given freely as a gift,
    As was his own salvation

    Saint Cuthman in the village Steyning
    built a church with his own hands
    A shepherd who the sheep obeyed
    When he gave to them commands

    And at the words of this saint
    The rains from Heaven fell
    The laughter of the haughty
    In their spoiled fields to quell

    That in West Sussex men might learn
    Wherein to place their joy
    Not in the riches of the Earth
    The moth might still destroy

    But in those things eternal
    For which Heaven laughs or cries
    The things which are unchanging,
    Unlike our earthly skies

    And still unto this very day
    When Penfold’s Field is mown
    Rain descends like tears upon
    Land cruel laughter once had sown

  • Saint Brendan

    from the book: From Dust to Stars, Poems by Jake Frost

    At Saint Ailbe’s Abbey,
    In the silent island f the sea,

    Saint Brendan asked to stay,
    But the ancient abbot answered, “Nay,”

    “It is not to be,” said he,
    “God calls you out to sea,”

    “He has wonders there to show,”
    “Wonders He wills that you would know.”

    “He bids journey, sails unfurled,”
    “Again into His wonder-world,”

    “To search the secrets of His creation,”
    “Secrets hid since time’s foundation,”

    “To see what yet no eye has seen,”
    “And know what yet no man has dreamed.”

    And so upon the waves once more
    Brendan pushed his coracle from the shore

    And cast himself upon the brine
    There to seek what he would find

    Crossing wide the heaving swell
    In search of what the world would tell

    He set off to wander and explore
    And knock upon the hidden door

    And when he saw, but could not see
    What some hidden thing might be,

    He prayed to God fervently,
    “Reveal to me this mystery,”

    “Of Your world that You have made,”
    “Let me know what is,” he prayed

    And as he sought, so was it shown
    And the secret of wonders to him made known

    Thus many marvels did he find,
    Dazzling to man’s questing mind

    So that the hermit Paul confessed,
    “Wandering Brendan, you are blessed,”

    “For to you has God revealed”
    “Things which were before kept sealed.”

    So to all you who would seek know,
    Who in dreams the seeds of wonder sow,

    Nurture the wonder so that it grows,
    And follow the way that Brendan shows,

    For since first there was mystery to unwind,
    It has been given to those who seek that they shall find