I saw a donkey at a fair When sounds and songs were in the air; But he no note interpreted Of what the people sang or said.
I saw a donkey at a fair When sounds and songs were in the air; But he no note interpreted Of what the people sang or said.
The little muslin moth, Whose food is flame and cloth, Flitting in rapid flight From linen-chest to light,
Seldom the soaring rocket-light will rise Up from the flaming heart and reach the eyes. Often the song of ecstasy, half-sung,
Our single entrant in the race Of getting hailed as full of grace Outscored the angels, took the prize, And won all honors in the skies.
Their noses are assailed with smells, Their ears are beat upon by bells, They see the outward coverings And watch the surfaces of things,
Let not my little Muse Deceive you or confuse. Not in the pose of art
Elbows and knees are mysteries Of which I become aware, Dwindled at night to half my height
It is not information That causes inspiration. There are no lambs and Marys In any dictionaries;
Over us and under Is a world of wonder: In between we blunder, Blunder in between
CATHOLICISM is not only a matter: a truth to be told; it is also a manner: a way of telling it. Manner makes meaning quite as much as matter does. To say what Christ said, but not in the way … Continue reading
Pray for the fragile daughter, And the frail, infant son, Whom, at the font, the baptismal water I pour upon.
(Sheed and Ward, 1934) Fish On Friday My Little Minister Skheenarinka Good Christians A Madonna Of The Kitchen Evangeline Asthore The Journey Joe Pallavicino Charlie Maloney The Queen Of Hearts Little Slipper Street This Little Thing Cousin Willie To thousands … Continue reading
(A story about Father Bernard Vaughn) One day, Father Bernard Vaughn was in a small town in Lancashire, called Wigan. He was leaving the town, and was standing in the railroad station awaiting the train, which was late. He went … Continue reading
(Editor’s Introduction: Not much needs to be said to introduce this piece. We are satisfied merely to say that it was an address Fr. Feeney gave in 1942 on the very popular “Catholic Hour,” Bishop Fulton Sheen’s Sunday night radio … Continue reading
The four and forty rivers are rallied at the heights, In the melting of the days, in the dripping of the nights, In the condensation of clouds:
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