“Dialogue,” by Sr. M. Madeleva, C.S.C.

A Word, a Word
Thou, Lord, didst utter which thy willing handmaid heard,
And infinite, small Life within my own life breathed and stirred.

A blessed space,
My Lord in me and I in Him found resting place;
In such divine repose I waited, silent and full of grace.

Answer is nigh;
O God, I lift a Child up heart-and-heaven high
And say, ‘This is my Flesh and Blood;’ Thy Word is my reply.

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A reflection on joy for a Monday morning

The following poem by Mary Oliver appears in her collection Thirst.

Mozart, for Example

All the quick notes
Mozart didn’t have time to use
before he entered the cloud-boat

are falling now from the beaks
of the finches
that have gathered from the joyous summer

into the hard winter
and, like Mozart, they speak of nothing
but light and delight,

though it is true, the heavy blades of the world
are still pounding underneath.
And this is what you can do too, maybe,

if you live simply and with a lyrical heart
in the cumbered neighborhoods or even,
as Mozart sometimes managed to, in a palace,

offering tune after tune after tune,
making some hard-hearted prince
prudent and kind, just by being happy.