(Download) "Saints in Sussex" by S. Kaye Smith # Book PDF Kindle ePub Free
eBook details
- Title: Saints in Sussex
- Author : S. Kaye Smith
- Release Date : January 30, 2020
- Genre: Religion & Spirituality,Books,
- Pages : * pages
- Size : 1844 KB
Description
ST. ANDREW
The Men of Sussex crying after him
Andrew, what of the North?
In November shadows drear
We have heard thee marching forth
With songs of a glad new year.
Thou goest to mountains high,
To Picts in a Northern fen—
But, Andrew, tarry and hear the cry
Of the little Southern Men.
Down by the seas of Gaul,
Where the Roman eagles stand,
Anderida they call
Our shaggy forest land.
We have no saving health,
To us no Word comes forth,
On us the gods bestow no wealth—
Yet Andrew goes to the North.
Oh, stay and give us grace,
For our hearts are grey with dule,
As each man lifts his face
In the dreadful days of Yule,
When the burning Wheel stands still
In the black and dropping skies,
And the Long Man screams upon the hill
With the human sacrifice.
10
Our Druids tell sad tales,
Our arms have lost their worth
In the scrubby hills of Wales;
But thy mighty banners go
Forward and pass us by,
As the Northern streamers fly and flow
On the red wings of the sky.
We hear strange tales of thee—
We hear thou preachest still
A Man more fair than Bald, a Tree
More tall than Ygdrasyl,
A Bread more strong than meat,
Water more fierce than wine—
Than the mead which drunken gods find sweet
In the halls where Heroes dine....
To the little Southern Men
Saint Andrew answered he:
“I have heard from the Northern fen
Your moan from the Gaulish sea;
And though I pass you by,
And may not see your face,
Yet my Lord hath heard your cry,
And He sends you hope of grace.
“Three saints shall teach the land
That lies by the Southern sea;
Three saints on your shores shall stand—
A thrice-noble company.
11
The Word that heals and saves,
Which to the Scots I send,
Wilfred shall teach by the waves
That beat on Manhood’s End.
“On Havant’s drawling tide,
Which round the island swells,
The solemn ships shall glide
To the chime of Richard’s bells:
On Mayfield’s hills the iron
Of Dunstan’s anvil rings
As he hammers gates for Zion
And fights Unholy Things.
“So faint not—all is well,
And the price of hope is paid
By the Lord Who hath harrowed hell,
And hath made the gods afraid.
Eternity keeps the hours
Till the Sussex Saints go forth—
Wilfred and Richard and Dunstan are yours,
But Andrew goes to the North.”
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