Sunday, April 24, 2011

Easter Sunday (4)

Christ the true sun is risen
  from the dark last night
The mystic harvest of the Lord's own field
  Now wandering tribes of bees joyously sport
Between the flowers
   Seeking their nectars sweet
The honeyed winds with
   bird songs are bedewed
Nocturnal melody of nightingales abounds
   In church, the people chorus
out their Sion song
   Their hundred folded alleluia sounds 
Tado*, our father, may  heavenly Easter joy
    Gather you to the threshold of light.

Sedulius Scottus 820 AD.
Born Siadhal Mac Feredach,  an  Irish cleric he was also a fine poet 

Graphic: Sculpture, The Risen Christ, El Greco

*this Easter Sunday poem was written for Tado, Archbishop of Milan

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