On the Sunday after Easter readers of the Washington Post were shocked and saddened by a story on the paper’s front page. It concerned a family who lived in Middletown in the Maryland countryside about 50 miles outside D.C. The … Continue reading
“I have a nausea,” said Sancho Panza, “and I believe I must write a book.” “I can think of no nausea so potent as to fit thee to write a book,” said Don Quixote, “and, since thou art my squire, … Continue reading
Born out of dust, of dust’s consistency, You start, from the immensity of night, A wisp of fluttering transparency, Glorious with willingness, this final flight.
Protesting The Unitarian Dr. Lee Is pleased he does not disagree With God on points, — perhaps two or three.
(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 sweet-briar rose of summer glades We lay upon another shrine ;  The lily of the Mohawk woods, O dusky maiden! shall be thine.
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:
Of all the books I have read on the lives of saints and holy personages, none has ever moved or inspired me as did Dr. Malcolm Brennan’s Martyrs of the English Reformation. Perhaps it was because, beside such luminaries as … Continue reading
The groaning of the peddler’s cart Is droning slowly through the mart of Alexandria. The climbing sun blows as he goes Higher still and higher, A wreath of golden burning fire, On that far city of the Orient. The wilting … Continue reading
In this our world of great renown, So many things are upside down. Pious divines preach evolution And kings join the revolution.
It need not be the one, expecting to depart, The one with the ailing lungs or failing heart.
Knowing that it would burn she courted fire; And who shall wish to chide her heart’s desire?
At morn, at noon, at twilight dim, Maria, thou hast heard my hymn!
No longer of Him be it said “He hath no place to lay His head.”
Oh you who are anxious to learn what it is to enjoy the Word, prepare not your ear but your soul; for it is grace that teaches it and not language. This secret remains hidden from the wise and the … Continue reading