Dedicated to the healing angel who fixed my rosary the other day. From burning empyrean sphere An angel does leap down, Descends to Bethsaida’s mere And stirs its waters round. The healing angel, Raphael It is we may be sure … Continue reading
Examining the theme of loss and the isolation of the human soul through the thinking of Chesterton, Belloc, and Baring, this paper considers some of the theological, moral, and psychological matters — both the causes and the effects — while … Continue reading
Medieval romances generally fell into four categories: the Matter of Rome, which dealt with such classical heroes as Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar; the Matter of France, whose tales were inhabited by Charlemagne and such heroes as his nephew … Continue reading
This poem is dedicated to judgmental people everywhere.1 Your virtues, they are vices; Your deeds are each a sin. Inside no tad of goodness; Your bright veneer is thin. Your thoughts must all be darksome Your plans self-serving, too. That … Continue reading
Through the kindness of the author, Professor Mitchell Kalpakgian, I was unexpectedly invited to comment on his own recent article in the April 2012 issue of New Oxford Review. What he wrote was a trenchant literary essay concerning Herman Melville’s … Continue reading
Joseph Pearce recalls the extraordinary life of Roy Campbell, who hid St John of the Cross’s letters from anticlerical Spanish militiamen. As you read Pierce’s piece, recall that here in the good old U S of A, people were led … Continue reading
Rome A world-renowned work of literature, Dante’s epic poem Divine Comedy, has been described as racist, homophobic, anti-Islamist and anti-Semitic by Gherush 92, a human rights organization that acts as a consultant to United Nations groups. More here.
THE AMERICAN ECCLESIASTICAL REVIEW, Feb, 1944. THE LEONARD FEENEY OMNIBUS. A Collection of Prose and Verse Old and New. New York, Sheed and Ward, 1943. Pp. xiv + 399. $3.00.
I count my pygmies, one by one, The nearly finished, half-begun, Bedraggled poems I have written, Companioned by a clock and kitten, On littered desk, by candle-light, Locked in my chamber late at night,
When the Angel has blown on his trumpet a rat-a-tat-tat, And the final encounter of armies is finished and fought;
Three soldiers rose up from their tents And went to join their regiments. And one said: “Captain, I report Because I think the war is sport!”
One’s faith has little nightmares It easily survives: — Divorcing lust and Luther, Henry and lots of wives.
One of us must surrender Ere this affair is done. I beg You — for it could not be — That You be not the one.
Think you, if this were I, You would be let to cry? Were it I, for your sake, Think you I would not wake?
There are three persons I admire tremendously and love the most, And these are God, The Father, The Son and The Holy Ghost. I admire them the most because beyond all others they are