Friday, April 4, 2014

Poem: “A Poet Before the Cross” By Paul Claudel

My hands are useless now, clamped to this wood.

Would you who love me lend me your hands to continue my offices of mercy to my brothers and sisters? Making them to be gentle, soothing hands as were mine?

Will you lend me your feet to visit the sick, the aged, the lonely, the dying?

Will you lend me your tongue to cheer the down-hearted, to comfort the desolate and bereaved? To breathe my peace where there is discord?

Will you lend me your heart to carry my love to all whom you meet?

Will you lend me all the things you find hard to bear, so that with them, I may solace the members of my Body more heavily burdened than you are?

(Slightly adapted.)