IMMACULATA

EDITOR'S NOTE: Today is the Memorial of the Most Holy Name of Mary! Here is utterly lovely music and poetic words in honor of Mary under her title, The Immaculate Conception, referring to her sinless conception.

Please listen to the accompanying music while you read the poem. Both were written and composed by nonsumdignus.

IMMACULATA THE MUSIC

Immaculata,

from whom the Savior had His birth.

It could not have been of any other.

But only you of blessed worth,

known to the angels, but not on earth.

O sweetest mother and precious Child,

the angels sang your lullaby,

announced to poor ones the coming King,

and his dear mother the unknown queen.

Refrain:

 Mary, sweet Mother,
your worth is not measured in crowns or thrones.
What once was hidden gladly we make known.
You loved God completely. He made you His own.
You trusted your Maker, gave all into His hands,
including that babe in swaddling bands.

Immaculata,

who watched Him grow up from His youth,

You knew the time was sweet, but fleeting,

that He would dwell beneath your roof.

And now the time is here--

The wedding guests have drunk the wine,

and you will tell your Son.
He’ll turn the water to the best wine,
so that the deaf can hear, the blind can see,
and prisoners be set free,
His Kingdom come!

Refrain:

 Mary, sweet Mother,

your worth is not measured in crowns or thrones.

What once was hidden gladly we make known.

You loved God completely. He made you His own.

You trusted your Maker, gave all into His hands,

including that babe in swaddling bands.

Immaculata,

you watched your Son be mocked and scorned;

then scourged with whips and crowned with thorns.

The Lamb of God was to be slain,

a bloody sacrifice upon a cross.

You stood there, Mary, a mother grieving, 

beneath the wood of His great suffering.

You bore His agony --the thorns, the nails--

The sword that pierced His heart pierced your heart too.

Final refrain:

Mary, sweet Mother,

your worth is not measured in crowns or thrones.

What once was hidden gladly we make known.

You loved God completely. He made you His own.

You trusted your Maker, gave all into His hands,

including that babe in swaddling bands.

Immaculata, Our Mother!

Did you enjoy this piece, there's a ton more! Go to  nonsumdignus  for more music, poetry and commentary. Click on "Archive," and the music is displayed in purple, the poetry and science in green.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Tell people that if a choir or soprano and alto want to make a recording I will send a score -- I have arrangements for both. The only caveat -- they have to share with me.They can contact me through Tumblr. Click on the "Ask Me Anything" link here Tumblr Account of nonsumdignus

Or if you are not signed up to use Tumblr, you can contact me, Susan Fox, via direct message at: Facebook  I will relay your message to nonsumdignus.

Lament for Western Man

In Memory of James Foley

American Catholic Journalist, who prayed the Rosary, died to expose the suffering of the people of the Middle East and was  beheaded by the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria ISIS)

By Lawrence Fox

“He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; 
like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.

By a perversion of justice he was taken away. Who could have imagined his future?
For he was cut off from the land of the living, stricken for the transgression of my people.”(Isaiah 53:7,8)

American Catholic Journalist James Foley 

Messenger, your passion was for gathering, and war;

your empathy stirred, inevitably marching you toward peril -- both subtle and blatant.

Little did we appreciate the witness of your herald.

Valor impressed you, made you a magnet for dark ritual obsession.

Carnage, barbarity -- you relayed and became the story for our digestion.

Little did we grasp the deceit -- both subtle and blatant:
“It is a Religion of Peace!”

Colleagues, Citizens, and Politicians, so you persist at the gathering,

enthralled in a post-modern trance, digesting the horror

       without understanding the Islamist ritual context.

“Certainly theirs is not madness,” we pretend;

taking the Progressive Stance:

“Terror gestates only within the heart of heroic men --

seeking to redress injustices performed!”

But by whom and for what, and God knows when?

So, James, we rationalize the murderous atrocity,

missing what the merest Medieval knight understood:

Wrong reigns in a misguided Seventh Century religiosity.

Photo of James Foley's beheading, 

 supplied by James Foley's murderers

  

Colleagues, Citizens, and Politicians alike ingest your ritual slaughter,

Frozen within a post-modern trance

(POTUS knew since January; CIA favored the Caliphate.)

No one admitting such butchery exceeds

Hammurabi’s eye-for-eye nor Shylock’s “pound of flesh.”

Your death is the natural conclusion of the Quran

Lies never subtle, always malevolently blatant.

Centuries ago in desert lands, James, your end was “divinely” ordained.

It is promoted and enshrined by the Prophet’s sirens;

never ending until the Truth is finally spoon-fed to their yawning hearts.

Your curdling sounds mixed with praises to the Prophet’s god,

their song – some think it lovely – is  relayed back for our consumption and,

your colleagues, citizens, and politicians persist at the gathering,

buried in a post-modern trance, refusing to grasp,

 “It is NOT a religion of peace.”  

Rest in True Peace beloved James Foley, Angel to Western Humanity, and pray that Rosary for us.

--edited by Susan Fox

To Understand this Poem You Might Enjoy Reading Another  Piece that Lawrence Fox wrote:THE GLORY OF ISLAM: Putting the Beheadings, Rapes and Crucifixions into the Context of the Quran 

The Spiritual Director's Library

 by Susan Fox

 

In this room

all thoughts are spoken.

Even as you light the candles,

each recessive fear of our cupboards is extinguished.

There is no need for dishes.

We counted them once and lost them,

while groping for the matches.

There are no mirrors,

ugly lies written on our walls.

Our door is clean

and as we enter here,

we see each other clearly

         by the candles burning in our voices.