Musique Française

Started by Ancilla Domini, April 07, 2014, 07:45:23 PM

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Ancilla Domini


MilesChristi

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
    It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
    It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
    And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
    And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
    There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
    Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
    World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Bonaventure

"If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me."

Dom Passerini

a sparrow all alone on the housetop

perdurabit

#4