CECIDIT, CECIDIT BABYLON MAGNA!
By Theodore Maynard
The aimless business of your feet,Your swinging wheels and piston rods,The smoke of every sullen streetHave passed away with all your Gods.
The aimless business of your feet,Your swinging wheels and piston rods,The smoke of every sullen streetHave passed away with all your Gods.
The aimless business of your feet,Your swinging wheels and piston rods,The smoke of every sullen streetHave passed away with all your Gods.
The aimless business of your feet,
Your swinging wheels and piston rods,
The smoke of every sullen street
Have passed away with all your Gods.
For in a meadow far from theseA hodman treads across the loam,Bearing his solid sanctitiesTo that strange altar called his home.I watch the tall, sagacious treesTurn as the monks do, every one;The saplings, ardent novices,Turning with them towards the sun,That Monstrance held in God’s strong hands,Burnished in amber and in red;God, His Own priest, in blessing stands;The earth, adoring, bows her head.The idols of your market place,Your high debates, where are they now?Your lawyers’ clamour fades apace—A bird is singing on the bough!Three fragile, sacramental thingsEndure, though all your pomps shall pass—A butterfly’s immortal wings,A daisy and a blade of grass.
For in a meadow far from theseA hodman treads across the loam,Bearing his solid sanctitiesTo that strange altar called his home.I watch the tall, sagacious treesTurn as the monks do, every one;The saplings, ardent novices,Turning with them towards the sun,That Monstrance held in God’s strong hands,Burnished in amber and in red;God, His Own priest, in blessing stands;The earth, adoring, bows her head.The idols of your market place,Your high debates, where are they now?Your lawyers’ clamour fades apace—A bird is singing on the bough!Three fragile, sacramental thingsEndure, though all your pomps shall pass—A butterfly’s immortal wings,A daisy and a blade of grass.
For in a meadow far from theseA hodman treads across the loam,Bearing his solid sanctitiesTo that strange altar called his home.
For in a meadow far from these
A hodman treads across the loam,
Bearing his solid sanctities
To that strange altar called his home.
I watch the tall, sagacious treesTurn as the monks do, every one;The saplings, ardent novices,Turning with them towards the sun,
I watch the tall, sagacious trees
Turn as the monks do, every one;
The saplings, ardent novices,
Turning with them towards the sun,
That Monstrance held in God’s strong hands,Burnished in amber and in red;God, His Own priest, in blessing stands;The earth, adoring, bows her head.
That Monstrance held in God’s strong hands,
Burnished in amber and in red;
God, His Own priest, in blessing stands;
The earth, adoring, bows her head.
The idols of your market place,Your high debates, where are they now?Your lawyers’ clamour fades apace—A bird is singing on the bough!
The idols of your market place,
Your high debates, where are they now?
Your lawyers’ clamour fades apace—
A bird is singing on the bough!
Three fragile, sacramental thingsEndure, though all your pomps shall pass—A butterfly’s immortal wings,A daisy and a blade of grass.
Three fragile, sacramental things
Endure, though all your pomps shall pass—
A butterfly’s immortal wings,
A daisy and a blade of grass.