OUR LADY OF SONG
My soul doth magnify the little sound
of coming song: the shuttle of the leaves
before the rain; the thunder of the sheaves
of winter clouds so silently unbound
before the snow; the whir of wings that mound
a nest; the soft, sharp breath that childhood weaves
upon a gift; the stir of ghostly greaves
of angel's armour guarding us around.
Unbar the cloister of your song; the larks
that Francis* knew wheel agile, sunward, high;
From psaltery of the heart unswing white sparks
Of beauty, bird and star flung to the sky.
Set free your voice above the lonely throng,
The sound you bring is peace - Our Lady's song.
Sister Maura SSND
Where once the wild Arbutus grew. 1945.
Used with permission
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*St Francis of Assisi, the saint who was known for his love for nature, birds and animals.
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