OUR LADY OF THE WORD

OUR LADY OF THE WORD

Our Lady of the Word, calyx and cowl

who wraps a whisper round, who sheathes a thought,

else sears the tongue, else shrivels it as gall,

sums every other syllable to naught.

She mates His murmur with her raptured breath,

His ceaseless purling[1] is her pulse’s stir,

whose speech can touch her days to ecstasy

whose silence drowns the world of sound for her.

His echo down the hollows of her heart,

a roar through vibrant bone, through yearning vein,

an arsis[2] for the lilt of joy can start,

a thesis[3] for the threnody[4] of pain.

For spirit splinters with His muffled shout,

the song is shattered, rent the dream, the drum,

hard wisdom is her heritage, and Love

a bleating lamb before His shearers dumb.

Sister M Immaculata CSJ

America.  22 August 1959

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[1] Purling: the running of a rivulet or stream: the Divine Infant’s chattering.

[2] Arsis: a lifting of the voice to a higher note.

[3] Thesis: a changing of the voice to a lower note.

[4] Threnody: a song of lamentation; a dirge.