Matt O'Reilly, PhD

Ye choirs of new Jerusalem Your sweetest notes employ The Paschal victory to hymn In strains of holy joy. How Judah’s Lion burst his chains, And crushed the serpent’s head; And brought with him, from death’s domains, The long-imprisoned dead. From hell’s devouring jaws the prey Alone our Leader bore; His ransomed hosts pursue their way Where he hath gone before. Triumphant in his glory now His sceptre ruleth all, Earth, heaven, and hell before him bow, And at his footstoo

Ye choirs of new Jerusalem Your sweetest notes employ The Paschal victory to hymn In strains of holy joy. How Judah’s Lion burst his chains, And crushed the serpent’s head; And brought with him, from death’s domains, The long-imprisoned dead. From hell’s devouring jaws the prey Alone our Leader bore; His ransomed hosts pursue their way Where he hath gone before. Triumphant in his glory now His sceptre ruleth all, Earth, heaven, and hell before him bow, And at his footstool fa

Ye choirs of new Jerusalem Your sweetest notes employ The Paschal victory to hymn In strains of holy joy. How Judah’s Lion burst his chains, And crushed the serpent’s head; And brought with him, from death’s domains, The long-imprisoned dead. From hell’s devouring jaws the prey Alone our Leader bore; His ransomed hosts pursue their way Where he hath gone before. Triumphant in his glory now His sceptre ruleth all, Earth, heaven, and hell before him bow, And at his footstool fa

I mentioned in yesterday’s post that N.T. Wright is a prolific writer of books. It turns out that he is something of a poet as well. Working with composer Paul Spicer, Wright has written the text for an Easter Oratorio that tells the story of the resurrection from chapters 20 and 21 of John’s gospel. The opening chorus is a fitting meditation for this Holy Saturday: On the seventh day God rested in the darkness of the tomb; Having finished on the sixth day all his work of joy

Here’s the rest of the above poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins. It’s one of my favorites The world is charged with the grandeur of God It will flame out, like shining from shook foil; It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod? Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil; And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod. An