Earlier this year, while sifting through the 240 gallons of books Dad shipped our way, this one caught my eye:

Petals is a work of poetry and verse compiled long ago by the Sisters of Mercy in Connecticut for their Reverend Mother. Mom’s collection of poetry books included this copy, signed by her aunt Margaret, Sister Amabilis.

As I flipped through the pages, the first several poems credited to Sister Amabilis were already familiar. But toward the end of the anthology, there were two more, both so fitting for today, Good Friday.

Untitled

O holy Infant Christ, Thy Baby Feet
So like small lilies white and wondrous fair,
Lay hidden in Thy maiden-mother’s hair,
As oft she covered them with kisses sweet.

O weary, world-worn Christ, thy tired Feet
Knew no relief within the house of Pride
Till one, whom scornful men had cast aside,
Bedewed them with her tears and spikenard sweet.

O Sacred, Suff’ring Christ, Thy wounded Feet,
That Love hath nailed unto the bitter tree,
Drip pardon, as in grief and shame to Thee
We creep — and find, O Christ, forgiveness sweet.
~ Sister M. Amabilis

Tumult of Mighty Harmonies

On the crest of Calvary, Eternal Life is dying. The sun retires cloistered behind the veil of an untimely darkness, glinting steely flashes and slowly closing the heavens.

The birds still their sweet singing; the flowers tremblingly close their petals and cling to earth. And like the flowers, little children creep to fond mother’s arms in strange alarm. For the ruddy Rose of Mary’s heart is bleeding out Its sweetness on the cross. The earth rocks in anguish; the very stones open their mouths in protest; the dead walk the streets with stern, vindictive visages. The motley, cringing crowd, remorseful, quivering with terror turns in a turbulent, skurrying stream to rush down the steep, stony hill. Even the princes of the people and stalwart soldiers, feeling the freezing finger of fear, flee.

Suddenly, above the tumult rises a clear, calm voice — “Father, into Thy hands I commend My Spirit” and charmed by the music of that Divine Word, the doves of Peace and Hope wing their way back to the hearts of men, to rebuild their shattered nests.
~Sister M. Amabilis

From Good Friday to Holy Saturday to Easter Sunday in these uncertain times of quarantine and isolation, my family wishes your family peace.

“Untitled,” “Tumult of Mighty Harmonies”  © 1982 Sr. M. Amabilis. All rights reserved.

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