The Deluge by G. K. Chesterton

Though giant rains put out the sun,
Here stand I for a sign.
Though earth be filled with waters dark,
My cup is filled with wine.
Tell to the trembling priests that here
Under the deluge rod,
One nameless, tattered, broken man
Stood up, and drank to God.

Sun has been where the rain is now,
Bees in the heat to hum,
Haply a humming maiden came,
Now let the deluge come:
Brown of aureole, green of garb,
Straight as a golden rod,
Drink to the throne of thunder now!
Drink to the wrath of God.

High in the wreck I held the cup,
I clutched my rusty sword,
I cocked my tattered feather
To the glory of the Lord.
Not undone were the heaven and earth,
This hollow world thrown up,
Before one man had stood up straight,
And drained it like a cup.

The Mabinogion: Celtic Folklore & Medieval Literature

The Mabinigion is a collection of stories from Medieval Welsh, and are full of the kind of "Arthurian" folklore that has a great appeal to Nationalists right across the world.

Right: Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed, written in Medieval Welsh.

Written down long after the Age of Saints in Wales and hundreds of years before Wales was forced (by Henry VIII) to become a de facto part of England under law, The Mabinogion harkens back to an age of Celtic Princes and there can be little doubt that the 14th Century works are a much older collection of stories in the oral tradition of the Celts.

With McDonalds, Pepsi, Tescos and Starbucks homogenising all before them, what better way to renew our love of European folklore and Celtic traditions than by picking up a copy of The Mabinogion?

Link:
The Mabinogion

Do Right and Fear No Man.

I thought this an apt poem considering the world we live in and especially as people, this Christmas Season, face the cruel arrows that are the calumnies, half-truths and outright lies fired by the self-seeking, corrupt, money-grubbing, degenerate and psychotic, it would do well for Brave Souls to read this and live by it.

There are always people queuing up to denigrate us, castigate us, belittle us and calumniate us. 'Twas ever thus, but it should never stop anyone from doing what is right - even as it didn't stop the innocent child born in poverty over 2000 years ago, who would (33 years later) face the howling mob, whipped by the Jewish powers, which screamed: "Crucify Him! Crucify Him!"

Mother Teresa's Anyway Poem

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self centered;
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God;
It was never between you and them anyway.

[Inscribed on the wall of Mother Teresa's children's home in Calcutta]

Christmas by Chesterton

A Christmas Carol poem by G.K.Chesterton

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.)

The Christ-child stood on Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down

Poem: To the Good Thief by Saunders Lewis

As we approach Christmas it's a good time to reflect on the meaning of Advent and what it foreshadowed.

So here's a poem by Dr Saunders Lewis, founder of Plaid Cymru, its leader for most of the 20th Century and "fascist anti-Semite" - i.e. nationalist and Christian.

The poem reminds us that Christ was born as much for the shepherds, little children and "good thieves" as for the princes and powerful in this world (some might say moreso).

This is, I believe, a translation of the original Welsh language poem:


To the Good Thief

You did not see Him on the mountain of Transfiguration
Nor walking the sea at night;
You never saw corpses blushing when a bier or sepulchre
Was stuck by his cry.

It was in the rawness of his flesh and his dirt that you saw Him,
Whipped and under thorns,
And in his nailing like a sack of bones outside the town
On a pole, like a scarecrow.

You never heard the making of the parables like a Parthenon of words,
Nor his tone when He talked of his father,
Neither did you hear the secrets of the room above,
Nor the prayer before Cedron and the treachery.

It was in the racket of a crowd of sadists reveling in pain
And their screeches, howls, curses, and shouts
That you heard the profound cry of the breaking heart of their prey:
‘Why hast thou forsaken me?’

You, hanging on his right; on his left, your brother;
Writhing like skinned frogs,
Flea-bitten petty thieves thrown in as a retinue to his shame,
Courtiers to a mock king in his pain.

O master of courtesy and manners, who enlightened you
About your part in this harsh parody?
‘Lord, when you come into your kingdom, remember me,’ –
The kingdom that was conquered through death.

Rex Judaeorum; it was you who saw first the vain
Blasphemy as a living oracle,
You who first believed in the Latin, Hebrew and Greek,
That the gallows was the throne of God.

O thief who took Paradise from the nails of a gibbet,
Foremost of the noblitas of heaven,
Before the hour of death pray that it may be given to us
To perceive Him and to taste Him.

~ Saunders Lewis
1893 – 1985