Wednesday, April 3, 2013


Dom Julian Stead

A sacrifice and oblation we offer to the Father
Our own lives brought down like a pheasant in late autumn
Broken blind warm and dead
May what is left of us be acceptable to Thee
We bring what we are, not what we would be
To us it looks like Comedy
Though pride would have it Tragedy.

The audience are bored and have all walked away
And I am left alone, better leave the stage,
It is only an ice floe slowly melting.
Soon I shall be alone and very wet
And very cold, in the lower Arctic
Up to my neck, that will be the end.

And there will be glory to the Father
And to the Son and to the Holy Ghost
As it was in the beginning
Is now
And ever shall be
But how this shall be His glory
I cannot ask or tell.

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