Despite our collective anguish at the current Church crisis, we remember our individual spiritual lives: my contribution is this moving poem by Plunkett :
I see his blood upon the rose
And in the stars the glory of his eyes …
His body gleams amid eternal snows
His tears fall from the skies …
His tears fall from the skies …
I see his face in every flower
The thunder and the singing of the birds
Are but his voice ; and carven by his power
Rocks are his written words …
All pathways by his feet are worn
His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea
His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn
His cross is every tree.
Joseph Mary Plunkett
… God’s Garden ? …