Prayers and Poems

                                                There’s Snow on the Fields

                                                There’s snow on the fields,
                                                            And cold in the cottage,
                                                While I sit in the chimney nook
                                                            Supping hot pottage.

                                                My clothes are soft and warm,
                                                            Fold upon fold,
                                                But I’m so sorry for the poor
                                                            Out in the cold.

                                                Christina Rossetti

                                                “How far is it to Bethlehem?”

                                                How far is it to Bethlehem?
                                                            Not very far.
                                                Shall we find the stable-room
                                                            Lit by a star?

                                                Can we see the little Child?
                                                            Is He within?
                                                If we lift the wooden latch,
                                                            May we go in?

                                                May we stroke the creatures there –
                                                            Ox, ass, or sheep?
                                                May we peep like them and see
                                                            Jesus asleep?

                                                If we touch His tiny hand,
                                                            Will He awake?
                                                Will He know we’ve come so far
                                                            Just for His sake?

                                                Great kings have precious gifts,
                                                            And we have naught;
                                                Little smiles and little tears
                                                            Are all we brought.

                                                For all weary children
                                                            Mary must weep;
                                                Here, on His bed of straw,
                                                            Sleep, children, sleep.

                                                God, in His mother’s arms,
                                                            Babes in the byre,
                                                Sleep, as they sleep who find
                                                            Their heart’s desire.

                                                            F Chesterton

                                                The Peace of God

                                                When war did cease upon the earth,
                                                The stars looked out, the heavens rang,
                                                The small Lord Jesus came to birth,
                                                A lilt of peace his Mother sang.

                                                A lilt of peace ‘mid snow-clad sheen,
                                                Goodness-peace, forgiveness of sin,
                                                Confession-peace, penitent-clean,
                                                Peace with God and the peace within.

                                                Peace with God and goodwill to men,
                                                The peace of triumph on the Tree,
                                                The rising peace that followed then,
                                                The peace of God for you and me.

                                                The peace of God, lake-waters by,
                                                The peace of God, mist o’er the sea,
                                                The peace of God, ascending high,
                                                The peace of God, unceasingly.

                                                From Poems of the Western Highlanders

                                                For Peace

                                                Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
                                                Where there is hatred, let me sow love.
                                                Where there is injury, let me sow pardon.
                                                Where there is doubt, let me sow faith.
                                                Where there is despair, let me give hope.
                                                Where there is darkness, let me give light.
                                                Where there is sadness, let me give joy.
                                                O divine master, grant that I may
                                                not try to be comforted, but to comfort;
                                                not try to be understood, but to understand;
                                                not try to be loved, but to love.
                                                because it is in giving that we receive,
                                                in forgiving that we are forgiven,
                                                and in dying that we are born to eternal life.

                                                Francis of Assisi (1182 – 1226)

                                                Teach Me

                                                Dearest Lord, teach me to be generous. 
                                                Teach me to serve you as you deserve;
                                                to give and not to count the cost;
                                                to fight and not to heed the wounds;
                                                to toil and not to seek for rest;
                                                to labour and not to seek reward,
                                                save that of knowing that I do your will.

                                                Ignatius of Loyola (c1491 – 1556)

                                                Founder of the Society of Jesus – the Jesuits

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