Ash Wednesday

I cannot write of things sublime,
Of Heaven and Christ, and God's good love.
I cannot speak out of the time
Of earth's good seasons, marvels true.
I saw a streak of painted light
Of palest pink and yellow hue
Along the very edge of sight
Where sky meets hill and slips from view.
The day was one of gloom and ash;
E'en so my heart was light and free;
And when I saw that muted flash,
I wished I could forever be
So well content as in that glimpse
Of Beauty, which at once can turn
The hardest soul, the meanest sin-
All whom repentance, wish to learn.

So did Ash Wednesday lay its head
To blessed sleep. So did I rest-
Yet not in fear, not in regret. Instead
With prayers to stand the test
Which God this Lent for me sees fit.
Only his grace can soothe men's hearts,
Keep fast their souls from deep despair.
In time of Lent His love imparts
Sweet peace to those in sorrowful pain.
But precious few observe this fast
And often at its end decline;
Their goodly habits do not last
And worldly pleasures greater shine.
Yes Lent will cease to be quite soon
Just like the streak of light I saw.
Though it seem bitter, painful, long,
When it desists the darkness comes,
Like night upon that painted sky,
Blots virtues out, undoes their work.

What wisdom then, to yearly hold
These solemn days of penitence,
So that, with mind strengthened and bold
The Easter feast we honor well.
Now I must end, imperfect rhyme
Though it may be. I have my cross
To gladly bear on Calvary's climb.
In the Communion of the Saints
Catholics all enjoin their prayers!
All for His glory! Amen!


(Thanks for reading. Written by Sophie Saurette)

A Sonnet

Written: Quinquagesima Sunday, February 7th, 2016


It started out a day of glorious sun
All brilliant, blue, with not a cloud in sight.
Leftover ice, in patches, has begun
To shine, but not to melt. You know the light
Will not last; and now it is dark. All piled
Upon themselves the clouds look flat, all grey,
As steel or lead: they promise a spring, mild
And full of content. But for now they stay,
For days, and even weeks. Perchance they pour
Some bounty on the swelling ground below;
Or even in March days, on nature's floor
Lay down an unexpected gift of snow.
Oh, for the days of winter into spring!
No time but this so urges me to sing!