Prayers

 

Last night did Christ the Sun rise from the dark,

The mystic harvest of the fields of God,

And now the little wandering tribes of bees

Are brawling in the scarlet flowers abroad.

The winds are soft with birdsong; all night long

Darkling the nightingale her descant old,

And now inside church doors the happy folk

The Alleluia chant a hundredfold.

O Father of thy folk, be thine by right

The Easter joy, the threshold of the light.

(Sedulius Scottus, ninth century, Latin. Trans. Waddell, Mediaeval Latin Lyrics)

 O Christ, the Master Carpenter Who at the last through wood and nails  Purchased our whole salvation,  Wield well your tools In the workshop of your world so that we who come rough-hewn to your bench may here be fashioned  to a truer beauty of your hand.  We ask it for your own name’s sake. Amen.                                                                   

 ( original by Arthur Gray Butler, 1831-1909, adapted. )   

 Jesus, Saviour, you are with us in the good years, and in the lean times when we look to you.  Help us in this time of uncertainty.  May we serve our neighbour in need, taking the risk of engagement rather than walking by in safety. Bless and guide those who must make decisions that affect us all. May they never bind on others burdens they would not carry themselves.  When the grind seems unending, help us to see what really matters, in our relationships with others, in willingness to share both the weight of the hardships and the pleasures of life. May we know your love in the morning and your truth in the watches of night.   

……….

God of the elements, Ancient of Days

you gave us the land to feed and delight us;

 

Wind of the Spirit, bringer of growth

you gave us each other to reach and restore us;

 

Jesus the carpenter, human in weakness,

you gave us our labour, to cherish your kingdom.

 

Bless us, restore us, stretch us to serve you,

Friend of all need, give us starlight to guide us,

 

on the road to your home with the people you love.

 

 

………..

   From Saltair na Rann ( tenth century?)

 My King, the King of noble heaven

without pride, without boasting,

made the world with its true nature –

my King, ever living, ever triumphant;

 

King over the creation on which the sun looks down,

King over the depths of the ocean,

King south, north, west and east,

against whom no struggle can be maintained.

 

King of mysteries, who has been, who is,

before the creation, before the ages,

King living forever still, fair his semblance,

King without beginning, without end.     

                                                                            (trans. John Carey, King of Mysteries, 98.

………….

It were my soul’s desire

 To see the face of God;

It were my soul’s desire

To rest in His abode….

 

It were my soul’s desire

To study zealously;

This, too, my soul’s desire

A clear rule set for me.

 

 It were my soul’s desire

A spirit free from gloom;

It were my soul’s desire

New life beyond the Doom.

 

It were my soul’s desire

To shun the chills of Hell;

Yet more my soul’s desire

Within His house to dwell.

 

It were my soul’s desire

To imitate my King,

It were my soul’s desire

His ceaseless praise to sing.

 

It were my soul’s desire

When heaven’s gate is won

To find my soul’s desire

Clear shining like the sun.

 

Grant, Lord, my soul’s desire

Deep waves of cleansing sighs;

Grant , Lord, my soul’s desire

From earthly cares to rise.

 

It were my soul’s desire

What ever life afford –

To gain my soul’s desire

And see thy face, O Lord.

 

(11^th century. Trans. Eleanor Hull.  Printed Murray, The Deer’s Cry, 44-5)

  Light in Clare winter

 There are nights that are so still

that I can hear the small owl calling

far off, and a fox barking

miles away. It is then that I lie

in the lean hours awake, listening

to the swell born somewhere in the Atlantic

rising and falling, rising and falling

wave on wave on the long shore

by the village, that is without light

and companionless. And the thought comes

of that other being who is awake, too,

letting our prayers break on him

not like this for a few hours,

but for days, years, for eternity.

                                                            R.S.Thomas