A Nice Little Poem

What thou doest at Christ’s table,

Presbyter, think well;

Life eternal is preparèd

There for thee, or hell.

As the sacred taper burning

Dwindles in its size,

So the presbyter, if guilty,

Celebrating, dies.

Think of these — the death of Jesus,

Thine own death as well,

Earth’s deceptions, heaven’s glories,

And the pains of hell.

– The Sarum missal in English, F. E. Warren, trans.

Winter

Watching the television news, I see that Europe and North America are suffering severe snowstorms – climate change is upon us: the Ice Age cometh. ;-)

I do hope that, by the time my flight comes to Heathrow on New Year's Eve, this gridlock has eased! And on New Year's Day I need to travel to Oxford. Goodness knows how Edinburgh will be the next week...

Perhaps this poem by William Dunbar, writing just before the end of mediæval Catholic Scotland in foul dark Reformation, may strike a chord with frozen northern hemispherians, whom I'll soon be joining for some weeks:

MEDITATIOUN IN WYNTIR

In to thir dirk and drublie dayis,

Quhone sabill all the hevin arrayis

With mystie vapouris, cluddis, and skyis,

Nature all curage me denyis

Off sangis, ballattis, and of playis.

[Into these dark and wet days,

When sable all the heaven arrays

With misty vapours, clouds, and skies,

Nature all courage me denies

Of songs, ballads, and of plays.]

Quhone that the nycht dois lenthin houris,

With wind, with haill, and havy schouris,

My dule spreit dois lurk for schoir,

My hairt for languor dois forloir

For laik of symmer with his flouris.

[When that the night does lengthen hours,

With wind, with hail, and heavy showers,

My sad spirit does lurk threatened

My heart for languor does weaken

For lack of summer with his flowers.]

I walk, I turn, sleip may I nocht,

I vexit am with havie thocht;

This warld all ouir I cast about,

And ay the mair I am in dout,

The mair that I remeid have socht.

[I walk, I turn, sleep may I not,

I vexed am with heavy thought;

This world all over I cast about,

And e'er the more I am in doubt,

The more that I remedy have sought.]

I am assayit on everie syde:

Dispair sayis ay, "In tyme provyde

And get sum thing quhairon to leif,

Or with grit trouble and mischeif

Thow sall in to this court abyd."

[I am assailed on every side:

Despair says e'er, "In time provide

And get some thing whereon to live

Or with great trouble and mischief

Thou shall into this court abide."]

Than Patience sayis, "Be not agast:

Hald Hoip and Treuthe within the fast,

And lat Fortoun wirk furthe hir rage,

Quhome that no rasoun may assuage,

Quhill that hir glas be run and past."

[Then Patience says, "Be not aghast:

Hold Hope and Truth within thee fast,

And let Fortune work forth her rage,

Whom that no reason may assuage,

Till that her glass be run and past."]

And Prudence in my eir sayis ay,

"Quhy wald thow hald that will away?

Or craif that thow may have no space,

Thow tending to ane uther place,

A journay going everie day?"

[And Prudence in my ear says e'er,

"Why would thou hold that will [go] away?

Or crave that thou may have now space,

Though tending to another place,

A journey going every day?]

And than sayis Age, "My freind, cum neir,

And be not strange, I the requeir,

Cum, brodir, by the hand me tak,

Remember thow hes compt to mak

Off all thi tyme thow spendit heir."

[And then says Age, "My friend, come near,

And be not strange, I thee require,

Come, brother, by the hand me take,

Remember thou hast [ac]count to make

Of all thy time thou [hast] spent here."]

Syne Deid castis upe his yettis wyd,

Saying, "Thir oppin sall the abyd;

Albeid that thow wer never sa stout,

Undir this lyntall sall thow lowt:

Thair is nane uther way besyde."

[Then Death casts ope his gates wide,

Saying, "These within shall thee abide;

Albeit that thou were never so stout,

Under this lintel shall thou bow down:

There is no other way beside."]

For feir of this all day I drowp;

No gold in kist, nor wyne in cowp,

No ladeis bewtie, nor luiffis blys,

May lat me to remember this,

How glaid that ever I dyne or sowp.

[For fear of this all day I droop;

No gold in chest, nor wine in cup,

No ladies' beauty, nor lovers' bliss,

May hinder me to remember this,

How glad that ever I dine or sup.]

Yit, quhone the nycht begynnis to schort,

It dois my spreit sum pair comfort,

Off thocht oppressit with the schowris.

Cum, lustie symmer! with thi flowris,

That I may leif in sum disport.

[Yet, when the night begins to shorten,

It does my spirit some poor comfort,

Of thought oppressed with the showers.

Come, lusty summer! with thy flowers,

That I may live in some disport.]

Dunbar

At bedtime I've been reading out of my copy of The Poems of William Dunbar, that greatest and last (c. 1460-c.1520) of the mediæval Scots poets before the hideous evils of the Scottish Reformation. I like puzzling out the spelling and meaning of the words (aided by a handy glossary).

I can't wait to be in Scotland after Christmas, land of my forefathers (my paternal grandfather's great-grandfather came out to Tasmania from Lanarkshire), and walk the streets that once he walked, and hear somewhat of the accent he spoke and sang and wrote. It also puts me in mind of my maternal grandmother, with her love of tartan - she was a Stewart, married to an Irving...

Here is one of his moralising poems:

OF LYFE.

Quhat is this lyfe bot ane straucht way to deid,

Quhilk hes a tyme to pas, and nane to duell;

A slyding quheill us lent to seil remeid;

A fre chois gevin to Paradice or Hell;

A pray to deid, quhome vane is to repell;

A schoirt torment for infineit glaidnes,

Als schort ane joy for lestand hevynes.

[What is this life but a straight way to death,

Which has a time to pass, and none to dwell;

A sliding while us lent to seek remedy;

A free choice given to Paradise or Hell;

A prey to death, whom vain is to repell;

A short torment for infinite gladness,

Else short a joy for lasting heaviness.]

(It was normal in Scottish to write "quh-" instead of "wh-"; while my Scottish primary school teacher, Mrs Smith, unsuccessfully tried to get us Aussie kiddies to say "hw" or /ʍ/ for this sound, apparently in Middle Scots it was the far more formidable consonant cluster /xw/, with the initial sound being the velar fricative heard in "Loch".)

(The final "-d" in "-and" is silent, as is "l" after a vowel; and "k" in the North replaces English "ch": so "quhilk" is equivalent to "which".)

Aaron

I've had a blog break for a few days... here is an article I wrote eleven years ago; I still retain the copyright, so I'll republish it here, as something that may be of passing interest in this Annus Sacerdotalis 2009:

******

FAITH AND LITERATURE:

“AARON” BY GEORGE HERBERT.

Introduction.

Priests preparing to celebrate the Sacred Mysteries may well feel unworthy of the office entrusted to them. In this, the first of a series of articles examining aspects of Christian faith as expressed in literature, they will perhaps find a consoling subject for meditation, as part of their prayer before Mass, in the following work of the English metaphysical poet George Herbert.

Aaron.

Holinesse on the head,
Light and perfections on the breast,
Harmonious bells below, raising the dead
To leade them unto life and rest.
Thus are true Aarons drest.

Profanenesse in my head,
Defects and darknesse in my breast,
A noise of passions ringing me for dead
Unto a place where is no rest.
Poore priest thus am I drest.

Onely another head
I have, another heart and breast,
Another musick, making live not dead,
Without whom I could have no rest:
In him I am well drest.

Christ is my onely head,
My alone onely heart and breast,
My onely musick, striking me ev’n dead;
That to the old man I may rest,
And be in him new drest.

So holy in my head,
Perfect and light in my deare breast,
My doctrine tun’d by Christ, (who is not dead,
But lives in me while I do rest)
Come people; Aaron’s drest.

– George Herbert (1593-1633), The Temple.

A Commentary on “Aaron”.

“Each verse of Herbert’s poem suggests metrically the swelling and dying sound of a bell; and, like a bell, the rhymes reiterate with the same sound” (Herbert J. C. Grierson, Metaphysical Lyrics and Poems of the Seventeenth Century: Donne to Butler (pp. 231-2), Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1921). The iambic meter swells from trimeter, to quadrimeter, to pentameter, and then contracts again. In the five verses of five lines apiece (and note that Aaron’s name has five letters) a constant pattern is repeated: the first line of each verse concerns the symbolism of the priest’s head; the second line, that of his breast; the third, that of the bells and of music; the fourth, that of the rest afforded by the same; and the fifth, that of the complete dress of the Lord’s servant, the priest. Each line, then, is a repetition, and as it repeats, conflicts and contrasts arise like reverberations; these develop until the ideal presented in the first stanza is achieved in the last. Further, in each verse, the rhyme-words are the same, as a bell sounds always the same. The poem rings out Herbert’s theme, a godly theme: that of the typic Aaron, the model priest, fulfilled in Christ, in whom alone the Christian priest is made fit to minister.

As is common in this metre, the stress in the first foot of each line is often reversed (it is trochaic); however, less common, and so more noteworthy, is the occasional reversal of other feet. Hence “holiness” and “light” in the first verse, “defects” and “unto” in the second, “onely” in the third, “Christ” in the fourth, and “perfect” in the fifth, all stand at the start of lines, and are emphasised by trochaic feet. Stronger emphasis is created by trochaic feet in medial positions, as occurs for the first word or words in “raising the dead,” “thus am I drest”. More important still is the occurrence of half-stress as well as full stress in the same foot, as in “in whom I,” “ev’n dead,” “new drest,” “deare breast,” “come people” – these emphasise the points being conveyed. Finally, there are four lines in which several elements come into play; two of these lines have defective feet. “Thus are true Aarons drest” and “That to the old man I may rest” each contain both an initial trochee and a subsidiary stress – in the former on “true,” in the latter on “man”. “I am well drest” and “My alone onely” both consist of defective feet - the first two syllables are unstressed, the last two are both stressed, as in some forms of Greek poetry. Noting these accentual emphases helps to comprehend the poem’s conceptual emphases.

Reflection upon the first verse calls to mind St Aaron the First High Priest, who is a premier type of Christ the Eternal High Priest. Upon his head, as we read in Exodus xxviii, is a mitre bearing a golden plate inscribed Sanctum Domino, that is, “Holy to the Lord” (Exodus 28:36), and so having “holiness on the head”. Within the ephod “on the breast” repose the mysterious Urim and Thummim, literally “lights and perfections,” according to the Masoretic vocalization, as marginally noted in the Authorized Version so familiar to Herbert; or rendered as Doctrinam et Veritatem, doctrine and truth (Exodus 28:30), as the Vulgate prefers, and to which reference is made in line 23 of the poem.

Round about the hem of Aaron’s vesture were sewn bells, and the similitudes of pomegranates; and the bells would sound as Aaron passed into the Holy of Holies, “that he may not die” (Exodus 28:35). In Christian times it became conventional to allude to the fringe of “harmonious bells below” as representative of mellifluous preaching verily “raising the dead”, and of “the preacher’s duty to lead his people to life and rest through the sounding of his bells” (Rosemund Tuve, A Reading of George Herbert (p. 155), Faber and Faber, London, 1952) – that is, of his very preaching (kerygma) of none other than Christ’s teaching: “he that heareth you, heareth me” (St Luke 10:16). As the Lord said, “Amen, amen, I say unto you, that the hour cometh, and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God, and they that hear shall live” (St John 5:25).

“Thus are true Aarons drest” – note here how “true” is almost fully stressed – this can be read as a foreshadowing of the true Aaron, Christ, who is later referred to explicitly. The parallel here drawn between Aaron and Christ, and of the fulfilment in Christ of the ideal presaged in Aaron’s splendour, is representative of the fulfilment of the Old and former Testament in the New and eternal one, and of the new covenant of “grace abounding” fulfilling and surpassing the precepts laid down under the old covenant of the Law. Christ is “a priest forever” (Hebrews 5:6; 7:17, 21) of a more exalted kind than Aaron, as St Paul teaches in his Epistle to the Hebrews: “who is not dead” – no, he can ever deliver man from the “place where is no rest”: “I am the First and the Last, and alive, and behold I am living for ever and ever, and have the keys of death and of hell” (Apocalypse 1:17-18). That presaged in the Tabernacle and Temple of old is now made a reality in the new Temple, which is the Church, as many other of Herbert’s poems make clear.

In the Church, the mystical body of Christ, Christ the Head thereof ministers to his very members by way of his ministers, the priests, who act in persona Christi capitis (in the person of Christ the Head: see the Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph 1548). And so “another head / I have,” and again it is reiterated more strongly “Christ is my onely head,” and thus the priest is made “holy in my head”. Here the poem’s tripartite structure comes to the fore: first given is an image of the prophetic type of priesthood; then comes a confession of the sad present state of a member thereof; then Herbert tells how the all-too-evident “profaneness... defects and darknesse” may be made, in Christ, into joyous “light and perfections”. So Aaron and Christ are presented as relating to a Christian priest – the first gives him a biblical exemplar, which by his own works he cannot fully imitate; the second gives him the divine grace and character to be what he needs must be. As St Thomas Aquinas writes, “Christ is the source of all priesthood: the priest of the old law was a figure of Christ, and the priest of the new law acts in the person of Christ” (Summa Theologiae III, 22, 4c).

In “the more particular of the present case,” the “poore priest” contemplates how he is engrafted into these august mysteries. How can he, sinful son of Adam, in badness “thus am I drest” (note the plaintive “thus,” so stressed), minister in the sanctuary, in the holy place? So in line 8, “noise” is likely used in the sense of a band of musicians, in this case representing the tumult of ungodly passions, threateningly tolling the passing-bell of fearful living-death-in-sin, and of the second death, “where their worm dieth not” (St Mark 9:43) and “where there is no rest”; this nicely contrasts with the “onely musick” of line 18, which is Christ, who acts “striking me ev’n dead” – that is, as a clapper strikes in a bell, and with power, “ev’n dead”. “Without whom I could have no rest” – only by dying to sin and rising with Christ can he hope to minister fittingly. Dying to the “old man” so strongly imaged, dying to the first and sinful Adam, and living anew in Christ, the second and last Adam, is a central Pauline theme: “For you are dead; and your life is hid with Christ in God” (Colossians 3:3); and again, “stripping yourselves of the old man with his deeds and putting on the new” (Colossians 3:9-10). “He must die, that, thereby, Christ may increase in him” (Sr Thekla, George Herbert: Idea and Image (p. 292), Greek Orthodox Monastery of the Assumption, Newport Pagnell, England, 1974; cf. St John 3:30).

By holy baptism, as is stated in Romans chapter 6, he must have already died indeed with Christ, to be regenerated and born again in him “making live not dead”, as do all Christians, who thereby share in the common or baptismal priesthood; so what more is here asked? As he is a priest, it is implied that he must share in something more of Christ’s priesthood, of a higher degree and kind, even though the language is baptismal. The Christian priest, as far as his own self goes, “does not measure up... But then he remembers the indelible character of his priesthood and the grace of orders, the grace of the Christ whose power is made perfect in human weakness” (John Saward, Christ is the Answer (p. 131), T. and T. Clark Ltd., Edinburgh, 1995). The ministerial priesthood is that special character which fits the priest for his sacred office, to “be in him new drest”, definitively newly attired in Christ, to share in the priestly office of Christ. The priesthood, that most holy of all offices on earth, is necessarily most Christocentric.

In lines 12 and 17, Christ is called “another heart”, and more strongly still “my alone only heart,” referring to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, inseparably part of his sacred Humanity and so still within Christ’s verily “deare breast”, worthy of adoration, symbol of love and of the animation by Christ’s grace and love of all of who “have put on Christ” (Galatians 3:27) – and so, emphatically, “In him I am well drest”. It reinforces the truth of being “alive in Christ Jesus,” living by and in him alone. Indeed, as Pope John Paul II has said, “The priest always, and in an unchangeable way, finds the source of his identity in Christ the priest” (Holy Thursday Letter to Priests (1986), n. 10). For the Church, for the plebs sancta Dei (holy people of God) the priest, their very servant, pours forth preaching and “doctrine tun’d by Christ” who “lives in me while I do rest”; he serves them by ministering in the sanctuary, and may truly say with vigour “Come people; Aaron’s drest.”

Patristic Postscript: the True Aaron.

“Like ointment on the head, which ran down upon the beard, upon the beard of that Aaron.” By the priest Aaron, that Priest is indicated who alone fulfills the sacrament of the true High Priest (veri pontificis sacramentum), not with a victim of another kind, but in the oblation of His own body and blood: same Priest, same Victim, Propitiator and Propitiation, the One who effects all the mysteries for which He was announced. Who died, and was buried, and rose again, He ascended into heaven, exalting human nature above every other name, and sending the Holy Spirit, whose unction would penetrate every Church (cujus unctio omnem ecclesiam penetraret).

— St Prosper of Aquitaine, Expositio psalmorum (Explanation of the Psalms), on Ps 132(133):2; cited in Jurgens, W. A. The Faith of the Early Fathers, Vol. 3, p. 194, §2040.

Vale, Semester Domini

Over at Pastor Weedon's blog (salutations! I haven't read any comments of yours at Schütz's blog for a while, alas), he mentioned how the festival half of the year, what he termed the Semester Domini, "the Lord's Half", is almost over - Advent, Christmastide, Septuagesimatide, Lent, Passiontide, Eastertide, Ascensiontide, Whitsuntide: all the great seasons recapitulating all the Lord has done for us in the Economy of Salvation, the magnalia Dei.  Now, I might add, Corpus Christi and the Sacred Heart are the last movable feasts still remaining before we move into the long season "after Pentecost", or as the Sarum Rite, and Anglicans and Lutherans and Dominicans (used) to call it, "after Trinity", what the modern Latin terms tempus per annum, what is described as the green season...

I am reminded of two items, one a children's hymn, one a poem - first, the hymn (written by Katherine Hankey in 1888), summarizing the Semester Domini:

Advent tells us Christ is near;

Christmas tells us Christ is here!

In Epiphany we trace

all the glory of his grace.

Those three Sundays before Lent

will prepare us to repent;

that in Lent we may begin

earnestly to mourn for sin.

Holy Week and Easter, then,

tell who died and rose agin;

O that happy Easter Day!

"Christ is risen indeed," we say.

Yes, and Christ ascended, too,

to prepare a place for you;

so, we give him special praise,

after those great Forty Days.

Then, he sent the Holy Ghost,

on the Day of Pentecost,

with us ever to abide;

well may we keep Whitsuntide!

Last of all, we humbly sing

glory to our God and King,

glory to the One in Three,

on the Feast of Trinity.

But now we move into what is described in John Meade Falkner's 1910 poem, "After Trinity":

We have done with dogma and divinity,

Easter and Whitsun past,

The long, long Sundays after Trinity

Are with us at last;

The passionless Sundays after Trinity,

Neither feast-day nor fast.

Christmas comes with plenty,

Lent spreads out its pall,

But these are five and twenty,

The longest Sundays of all;

The placid Sundays after Trinity,

Wheat-harvest, fruit-harvest, Fall.

Spring with its burst is over,

Summer has had its day,

The scented grasses and clover

Are cut, and dried into hay;

The singing-birds are silent,

And the swallows flown away.

Post pugnam pausa fiet;

Lord, we have made our choice;

In the stillness of autumn quiet,

We have heard the still, small voice.

We have sung Oh where shall Wisdom?

Thick paper, folio, Boyce.

Let it not all be sadness,

Not omnia vanitas,

Stir up a little gladness

To lighten the Tibi cras;

Send us that little summer,

That comes with Martinmas.

When still the cloudlet dapples

The windless cobalt blue,

And the scent of gathered apples

Fills all the store-rooms through,

The gossamer silvers the bramble,

The lawns are gemmed with dew.

An end of tombstone Latinity,

Stir up sober mirth,

Twenty-fifth after Trinity,

Kneel with the listening earth,

Behind the Advent trumpets

They are singing Emmanuel’s birth.

Dunbar, Of the Nativitie of Christ

William Dunbar (c.1460-c.1520) was a noted Scottish poet, and from his pen comes this glorious poem for Our Lord's Birth, which I offer as a meditation and gift to all at this holy season now upon us.  I have glossed the obscurer words infra, but will leave the unusual spellings to be worked out; read it aloud, with a guid Scots accent!  (My distant forebears are mainly Scottish.)  

Of the Nativitie of Christ

Rorate celi desuper!  

Hevins distill your balmy schouris, 

For now is rissin the bricht day ster, 

Fro the ros Mary, flour of flouris: 

The cleir Sone, quhome¹ no clud devouris,

Surminting Phebus in the est, 

Is cumin of his hevinly touris; 

Et nobis Puer natus est.  

Archangellis, angellis, and dompnationis, 

Tronis, potestatis², and marteiris³ seir⁴, 

And all ye hevinly operationis, 

Ster, planeit, firmament, and speir⁵, 

Fyre, erd⁶, air, and watter cleir, 

To him gife loving⁷, most and lest, 

That come into so meik maneir; 

Et nobis Puer natus est.  

Synnaris be glaid, and pennance do, 

And thank your Makar hairtfully; 

For he that ye mycht⁸ nocht cum to, 

To yow is cumin full humly, 

Your saulis with his blud to by, 

And lous yow of the feindis arrest, 

And only of his awin mercy; 

Pro nobis Puer natus est.  

All clergy do to him inclyne, 

And bow unto that barne benyng, 

And do your observance devyne 

To him that is of kingis King; 

Ensence his altar, reid and sing 

In haly kirk, with mynd degest⁹, 

Him honouring attour¹⁰ all thing, 

Qui nobis Puer natus est.  

Celestiall fowlis in the are 

Sing with your nottis upoun hicht; 

In firthis and in forrestis fair 

Be myrthfull now, at all your mycht, 

For passit is your dully nycht, 

Aurora hes the cluddis perst, 

The son is rissin with glaidsum lycht, 

Et nobis Puer natus est.  

Now spring up flouris fra the rute, 

Revert yow upwart naturaly, 

In honour of the blissit frute 

That rais up fro the rose Mary; 

Lay out your levis lustely, 

Fro deid tak lyfe now at the lest 

In wirschip of that Prince wirthy, 

Qui nobis Puer natus est.  

Syng hevin imperiall, most of hicht, 

Regions of air mak armony; 

All fishe in flud and foull of flicht 

Be myrthfull and mak melody: 

All Gloria in excelsis cry, 

Hevin, erd, se, man, bird, and best, 

He that is crownit abone¹¹ the sky 

Pro nobis Puer natus est.

Glossary

1  quh- = wh-

2  powers

3  martyrs

4  many

5  sphere

6  earth

7  praises

8  -cht = -ght

9  composed

10 above

11  above

The Christ (and Poems) of St John of the Cross; Confitemini Domino

More on St John of the Cross's Sketch of Christ Crucified

Reference to the edition of St John's collected works in my possession reminded me (p.37f) that the sketch he drew of Our Lord Crucified was based a vision  of his: it shews Christ from the vantage point of the Father, looking down in love and acceptance of the sacrifice freely made by his Son, brought to the uttermost depths of sorrow and suffering for sinful man's sake.

The same text further reminded me of Dali's famous painting, apparently inspired by this image: without wishing to violate copyright, I give for reasons of comparison with its prototype a low-res. image thereof.

His Poetry

For my penance last night – though not I think sufficiently taken to my heart – I read over some of St John's poems in English translation, and was again moved by them, especially by his "Romance on the Gospel text 'In principio erat Verbum,' regarding the Blessed Trinity" (from which comes, as part 9, the text "On the Birth", below).  In the translations, familiar to me from the modern Office, they long past struck me, stuck in my mind, and bear repeating:

With the divinest Word, the Virgin 

Made pregnant, down the road 

Comes walking, if you'll grant her 

A room in your abode.  

– this one a good Advent meditation (tr. by Roy Campbell); and this ditto, and more so for Christmastide nearly upon us (tr. by E. Allison Peers):

When the ancient dispensation 

It's predestin'd course had run, 

Straight from out His bridal chamber 

Came the Bridegroom, God the Son.  

Once on earth, with arms extended 

He embrac'd His heav'nly Bride, 

And His blessèd Mother laid Him 

In the manger, at her side.  

All around that helpless baby 

Animals were standing by; 

Men sang songs of glad rejoicing; 

Angels join'd their songs on high, 

Celebrating the betrothal 

'Twixt the Bridegroom and the Bride, 

While th' Almighty, in the manger, 

As an infant, wept and cried.  

Gems these tears which human nature 

Brought to the betrothal-rite, 

And the Maid was lost in wonder 

As she witness'd such a sight.  

Man was full of joy and gladness; 

God was weeping, weak and lone.  

Ne'er before throughout the ages 

Had so strange a thing been known.

 

(What is so strange is not merely God's "weeping, weak and lone" but man's "joy and gladness" – for before the saving Incarnation, first act of the drama of salvation, the Bride – all humanity to be saved – was filled with longing and sighing, sadness and weeping at her unredeemed state and the promise afforded by hope.)

Returning to Kavanaugh and Rodriguez's translation, here is the last bit I read, St John's Suma de la Perfección:

Forgetfulness of created things, 

remembrance of the Creator, 

attention turned toward inward things, 

and loving the Beloved.  

Confitemini Domino

Confitemini Domino, quoniam bonus: quoniam in sæculum misericordia ejus.

As mentioned earlier, it is always good to go to Confession.  As a curious, wise old Dominican once said, all sacraments are primarily acts of worship, and so (citing the opening of what we would now call the penitential rite in the traditional Dominican Mass) the Sacrament of Penance rightly consists in confessing unto the Lord, confessing that the Lord is good, and that His mercy is for ever sure.  Confiteor, "I confess", has this double meaning in both tongues: to declare one's own wickedness, and to proclaim God's always-greater goodness.

Good to be shriven again.

I must remember what I know at heart: to love my neighbour is to respect him, and act accordingly: "Owe no man any thing, but to love one another... The love of our neighbour worketh no evil.  Love therefore is the fulfilling of the law."  (Rom. xiii, 8-10.)  Too often I do not act with charity.