OUR LADY OF FATIMA
Not
clad (girl winsomely) in white with sash
of
field-flower blue; no replica in mien or hue
of
her who stood at Lourdes, framed in a gash
of
rock, and poured out healing on our rue.
Nor
yet apparelled as that other you
whom
eagle-sighted John foreknew and drew:
a
woman wearing twelve dread stars for crown,[1]
and
the sun, the blinding sun, for a gown.
Folded
in light – yea, fleshed in light, Lady,
you
turn in mercy towards our century;
against
our grim and monster-spawning night,
you
stand to smite; yourself, God-wielded light.
The
hour is late and evil grows apace
(in
unbelief is grief; in pride, quick blight);
turn
not away your face, Hope of our race;
in
might dash down our dark, Lady of Light.
Sister M Paulinus IHM
America. 22 May 1948
