Holy Island
A solitary
stretch this is; a place too sacred
To be
conjoined to the main, but by a path
Washed daily
by the ebb and flow of cleansing tides
To rinse away
the traces and the prints of things profane.
Here is a
place aloof, a natural hermitage,
A cocoon of
greatness, a wild, awesome shrine -
Holy Island ,
whence, when men were plagued with fear
Of darkness so
profound, it passed their simple knowing,
A bolt flew,
brilliant as the dawn of time itself,
To raise up
Christ and down the demon ignorance,
To bring the
fire of God searing through the kingdoms
Of this world,
to reach from Forth to Thames , and further.
Here trod bold
Aidan first; called by the Northumbrian king
To scatter
seed that burgeons into life and faith;
He did not
live to see thence spring but tender shoots,
Yet, in his
heavenward ascent, one shepherd lad
Did, as famed
Elisha saw his lord arise, see him
Borne upward,
supported on the arms of angels
And thus did
deem it as a vision for his life
To be a monk
at Mailros, and to serve Lord Christ,
To serve with
labour, study, witness and inspire
His confreres
to abide in love, all to forsake
For sake of
gaining heaven and the riches there,
And precious lives
to liberate from pagan lore.
Cuthbert his
name; raised by his mother-nurse, Kenswith ,
He learned the
glory of the King of Heaven's love,
As, at her
side, his eyes afire with wonder,
He heard the
sacred history proclaimed to him.
A fine young
man he was, sturdy and flaxen-haired,
Of breeding,
not a common serf, but nobly born.
Like his
heavenly Master he grew in favour high
And, by his
vision, came he up to Prior Boisil ,
The well-loved
prior at Mailros, who, on seeing him,
Raised in holy
awe his hands toward sky and heaven
And declared
for all to hear, prophetically,
As John to
Christ, 'Behold, the servant of the Lord !'
Site
of Old Mailros, from Scott's View
There Cuthbert
learned the skills in which monastics throve,
To read, to
copy, memorise and preach Christ's word,
From Boisil,
father to the novice youth, in all
A man of holy
purity and prophetic grace.
And all along,
in Cuthbert grew the peregrine ,
To forge
through forest dark, to ford the rivers swift,
To reach the
lone, desolate hamlets in their darkness,
To stand
beside their village wells and bring them truth
From living
springs, which quenched their thirst and brought them life.
Brave man !
Fed by eagles , beloved of seals and otters
Who came to
warm his icy feet as he sang psalms
At dead of
night, for penance standing in the sea.
Beloved
indeed, not only of the lower orders,
But by all
those whose lives he graced with his own life;
Scarce could
he celebrate the mass without tears shed
And wept for
pity at the sins confessed to him.
Through
testing days of Whitby Synod calm he stayed,
When Colman,
angry and unmoving, split the church
For sake of Easter
Day , withdrawing to Iona,
Dividing even
Aidan's bones 'twixt him and them.
Submissive
Cuthbert, bending to the Roman way,
Desired the
peace and furtherance of the holy life,
And rival
factions reconciled to join again.
And then he
came to Lindisfarne, as prior sent.
St
Cuthbert's Island, Lindisfarne
Marked by a
cross, an island even holier yet
Stands o'er
against the sacred abbey's ruined walls;
Here built the
holy man his oratory, cut off
From
interference in his communion by tides.
Yet, even
wading through the rising waters came
The pilgrims
for the Thaumaturgus' blessed words,
That they
might find some holy cure, some gracious sign,
Some vestige
of the power found in Cuthbert's hands.
To hermitage
had turned his thoughts of late,
To escape the
constant press of men and women's need;
Thus was he
granted leave to sail away to Farne
To share his
oraisons with cries only of gulls.
Full nine long
years upon that island was his home,
In chapel,
where no view of sea nor land could draw
His thoughts
from things divine; from Easter to Easter
He removed not
his boots of skin from off his feet,
Save for the
sacred Maundy's rite of washing them,
In honour of
the Lord's great act to Peter.
Yet would he
still not turn away the faithful ones
Who braved the
vicious sea in boats to hear him speak,
Nor did their
hope deceive them , for no man returned
Deprived of
the great consolation Cuthbert gave,
Nor yet went
back accompanied by sorrowed mind
Which caused
his fearful voyage to bring him thither.
But now was
Cuthbert troubled by heralds urgent,
Men, sent from
Theodore , the Primate bade him come
And receive a
bishop's mitre, to be at Hexham,
Thence to
shepherd and to guide the northern churches.
He would not -
too dear to him was his hermitage
To leave it
now, to leave behind devotions' call,
The oratory,
the animals, the lowly ducks
He tended on
their nests without their scorning him -
To leave his
lovely Farne would crush his ageing heart,
To go back to
the mire and frenzy of the world -
He could not !
Then came the King himself to beseech
That he should
lead them, leave his loneliness and come.
Then Cuthbert
heard a voice; a distant voice it was
That rang to
him from through the years long since gone by;
Boisil , his
beloved prior, whose prophecy
He now, with
pain, perceived to be at fulfilment,
'Behold the
Servant of the Lord !' He knew the way -
His door he
opened, and went out into the day.
'The Lord be
praised !', the brothers' voices rose to sing,
And, 'Hail!
thou, Hexham's bishop, servant of the Lord!'
Cuthbert
smiled wanly, raised his hands in blessing,
Like one
surrendering to superior forces,
And spoke;
'The comfort and advising of the weak
Is equal to
the sacrifice of prayer. I come.'
St.
Cuthbert's pectoral cross
As though he
had not laid it down, his zeal renewed,
His work of
care and wonders he took up once more.
Exchanging
sees with Eata of Lindisfarne ,
Still close he
stayed to well-kent places and his home;
Great miracles
of healing issued from his prayers -
The plague was
stayed, fierce storms were calmed, and many won.
He read men's
inmost thoughts and saw their deep desires
Without their
telling; of all Lindisfarne's bishops
The most
beloved and revered this monk became;
And yet, in
all, his garb remained humility.
How many
blessed the day God spoke to Boisil first,
Which saying
unlocked Cuthbert's heart to bishop them.
Yet, failed
his strength and yearned his heart for lonely Farne;
A boat he
took, knowing well his days were far spent;
'I shall
return when you bring back my body here',
He said. And
even in those last few days of life
When storms
left Cuthbert desolate, in need of food ,
Those who
would challenge winter seas to reach his isle
Were healed
and comforted through Cuthbert's drooping hands
And wondered
at the strength which dwelt in Cuthbert's heart.
At last, on a
spring day, the unction he received
And, lifting
up his heavy eyes to heaven,
Stretched
forth his hands to magnify his Creator,
And in the
very act of praising Him, expired.
They say his
body incorruptible was kept,
And cherished
by the brothers there at Lindisfarne
Until great
waves of violent men crashed on the shores
To pillage and
to massacre and to destroy .
The saint's
revered remains they did not desecrate,
For faithful
men bore off the casket, and in Durham
Layed him
finally to rest, this holy being,
Underneath a
slab of grey inscribed ,'CUTHBERTUS'.
Cuthbert's
tomb, Durham
O Lord, who by
this faithful Cuthbert spoke,
Igniting fires
of righteousness throughout the land,
Grant that
this man may our hearts inspire to serve You,
As we his zeal
and patience seek to emulate.
Holy Island
A solitary stretch this is; a place too sacred
To be conjoined to the main, but by a path
Washed daily by the ebb and flow of cleansing tides
To rinse away the traces and the prints of things profane.
Here is a place aloof, a natural hermitage,
A cocoon of greatness, a wild, awesome shrine -
Holy Island , whence, when men were plagued with fear
Of darkness so profound, it passed their simple knowing,
A bolt flew, brilliant as the dawn of time itself,
To raise up Christ and down the demon ignorance,
To bring the fire of God searing through the kingdoms
Of this world, to reach from Forth to Thames , and further.
Here trod bold Aidan first; called by the Northumbrian king
To scatter seed that burgeons into life and faith;
He did not live to see thence spring but tender shoots,
Yet, in his heavenward ascent, one shepherd lad
Did, as famed Elisha saw his lord arise, see him
Borne upward, supported on the arms of angels
And thus did deem it as a vision for his life
To be a monk at Mailros, and to serve Lord Christ,
To serve with labour, study, witness and inspire
His confreres to abide in love, all to forsake
For sake of gaining heaven and the riches there,
And precious lives to liberate from pagan lore.
Top
Cuthbert his name; raised by his mother-nurse, Kenswith ,
He learned the glory of the King of Heaven's love,
As, at her side, his eyes afire with wonder,
He heard the sacred history proclaimed to him.
A fine young man he was, sturdy and flaxen-haired,
Of breeding, not a common serf, but nobly born.
Like his heavenly Master he grew in favour high
And, by his vision, came he up to Prior Boisil ,
The well-loved prior at Mailros, who, on seeing him,
Raised in holy awe his hands toward sky and heaven
And declared for all to hear, prophetically,
As John to Christ, 'Behold, the servant of the Lord !'
Site of Old Mailros, from Scott's View
There Cuthbert learned the skills in which monastics throve,
To read, to copy, memorise and preach Christ's word,
From Boisil, father to the novice youth, in all
A man of holy purity and prophetic grace.
And all along, in Cuthbert grew the peregrine ,
To forge through forest dark, to ford the rivers swift,
To reach the lone, desolate hamlets in their darkness,
To stand beside their village wells and bring them truth
From living springs, which quenched their thirst and brought them life.
Brave man ! Fed by eagles , beloved of seals and otters
Who came to warm his icy feet as he sang psalms
At dead of night, for penance standing in the sea.
Beloved indeed, not only of the lower orders,
But by all those whose lives he graced with his own life;
Scarce could he celebrate the mass without tears shed
And wept for pity at the sins confessed to him.
Through testing days of Whitby Synod calm he stayed,
When Colman, angry and unmoving, split the church
For sake of Easter Day , withdrawing to Iona,
Dividing even Aidan's bones 'twixt him and them.
Submissive Cuthbert, bending to the Roman way,
Desired the peace and furtherance of the holy life,
And rival factions reconciled to join again.
And then he came to Lindisfarne, as prior sent.
St Cuthbert's Island, Lindisfarne
Marked by a cross, an island even holier yet
Stands o'er against the sacred abbey's ruined walls;
Here built the holy man his oratory, cut off
From interference in his communion by tides.
Yet, even wading through the rising waters came
The pilgrims for the Thaumaturgus' blessed words,
That they might find some holy cure, some gracious sign,
Some vestige of the power found in Cuthbert's hands.
To hermitage had turned his thoughts of late,
To escape the constant press of men and women's need;
Thus was he granted leave to sail away to Farne
To share his oraisons with cries only of gulls.
Full nine long years upon that island was his home,
In chapel, where no view of sea nor land could draw
His thoughts from things divine; from Easter to Easter
He removed not his boots of skin from off his feet,
Save for the sacred Maundy's rite of washing them,
In honour of the Lord's great act to Peter.
Yet would he still not turn away the faithful ones
Who braved the vicious sea in boats to hear him speak,
Nor did their hope deceive them , for no man returned
Deprived of the great consolation Cuthbert gave,
Nor yet went back accompanied by sorrowed mind
Which caused his fearful voyage to bring him thither.
But now was Cuthbert troubled by heralds urgent,
Men, sent from Theodore , the Primate bade him come
And receive a bishop's mitre, to be at Hexham,
Thence to shepherd and to guide the northern churches.
He would not - too dear to him was his hermitage
To leave it now, to leave behind devotions' call,
The oratory, the animals, the lowly ducks
He tended on their nests without their scorning him -
To leave his lovely Farne would crush his ageing heart,
To go back to the mire and frenzy of the world -
He could not ! Then came the King himself to beseech
That he should lead them, leave his loneliness and come.
Top
Then Cuthbert heard a voice; a distant voice it was
That rang to him from through the years long since gone by;
Boisil , his beloved prior, whose prophecy
He now, with pain, perceived to be at fulfilment,
'Behold the Servant of the Lord !' He knew the way -
His door he opened, and went out into the day.
'The Lord be praised !', the brothers' voices rose to sing,
And, 'Hail! thou, Hexham's bishop, servant of the Lord!'
Cuthbert smiled wanly, raised his hands in blessing,
Like one surrendering to superior forces,
And spoke; 'The comfort and advising of the weak
Is equal to the sacrifice of prayer. I come.'
St. Cuthbert's pectoral cross
As though he had not laid it down, his zeal renewed,
His work of care and wonders he took up once more.
Exchanging sees with Eata of Lindisfarne ,
Still close he stayed to well-kent places and his home;
Great miracles of healing issued from his prayers -
The plague was stayed, fierce storms were calmed, and many won.
He read men's inmost thoughts and saw their deep desires
Without their telling; of all Lindisfarne's bishops
The most beloved and revered this monk became;
And yet, in all, his garb remained humility.
How many blessed the day God spoke to Boisil first,
Which saying unlocked Cuthbert's heart to bishop them.
Yet, failed his strength and yearned his heart for lonely Farne;
A boat he took, knowing well his days were far spent;
'I shall return when you bring back my body here',
He said. And even in those last few days of life
When storms left Cuthbert desolate, in need of food ,
Those who would challenge winter seas to reach his isle
Were healed and comforted through Cuthbert's drooping hands
And wondered at the strength which dwelt in Cuthbert's heart.
At last, on a spring day, the unction he received
And, lifting up his heavy eyes to heaven,
Stretched forth his hands to magnify his Creator,
And in the very act of praising Him, expired.
Top
They say his body incorruptible was kept,
And cherished by the brothers there at Lindisfarne
Until great waves of violent men crashed on the shores
To pillage and to massacre and to destroy .
The saint's revered remains they did not desecrate,
For faithful men bore off the casket, and in Durham
Layed him finally to rest, this holy being,
Underneath a slab of grey inscribed ,'CUTHBERTUS'.
Cuthbert's tomb, Durham
O Lord, who by this faithful Cuthbert spoke,
Igniting fires of righteousness throughout the land,
Grant that this man may our hearts inspire to serve You,
As we his zeal and patience seek to emulate.
Edinburgh, 9th February 1980
CUTHBERTUS
A poem on the life of St. Cuthbert of Lindisfarne c.634-687ad,
by Colin Symes
W
Holy Island
A solitary stretch this is; a place too sacred
To be conjoined to the main, but by a path
Washed daily by the ebb and flow of cleansing tides
To rinse away the traces and the prints of things profane.
Here is a place aloof, a natural hermitage,
A cocoon of greatness, a wild, awesome shrine -
Holy Island , whence, when men were plagued with fear
Of darkness so profound, it passed their simple knowing,
A bolt flew, brilliant as the dawn of time itself,
To raise up Christ and down the demon ignorance,
To bring the fire of God searing through the kingdoms
Of this world, to reach from Forth to Thames , and further.
Here trod bold Aidan first; called by the Northumbrian king
To scatter seed that burgeons into life and faith;
He did not live to see thence spring but tender shoots,
Yet, in his heavenward ascent, one shepherd lad
Did, as famed Elisha saw his lord arise, see him
Borne upward, supported on the arms of angels
And thus did deem it as a vision for his life
To be a monk at Mailros, and to serve Lord Christ,
To serve with labour, study, witness and inspire
His confreres to abide in love, all to forsake
For sake of gaining heaven and the riches there,
And precious lives to liberate from pagan lore.
Top
Cuthbert his name; raised by his mother-nurse, Kenswith ,
He learned the glory of the King of Heaven's love,
As, at her side, his eyes afire with wonder,
He heard the sacred history proclaimed to him.
A fine young man he was, sturdy and flaxen-haired,
Of breeding, not a common serf, but nobly born.
Like his heavenly Master he grew in favour high
And, by his vision, came he up to Prior Boisil ,
The well-loved prior at Mailros, who, on seeing him,
Raised in holy awe his hands toward sky and heaven
And declared for all to hear, prophetically,
As John to Christ, 'Behold, the servant of the Lord !'
Site of Old Mailros, from Scott's View
There Cuthbert learned the skills in which monastics throve,
To read, to copy, memorise and preach Christ's word,
From Boisil, father to the novice youth, in all
A man of holy purity and prophetic grace.
And all along, in Cuthbert grew the peregrine ,
To forge through forest dark, to ford the rivers swift,
To reach the lone, desolate hamlets in their darkness,
To stand beside their village wells and bring them truth
From living springs, which quenched their thirst and brought them life.
Brave man ! Fed by eagles , beloved of seals and otters
Who came to warm his icy feet as he sang psalms
At dead of night, for penance standing in the sea.
Beloved indeed, not only of the lower orders,
But by all those whose lives he graced with his own life;
Scarce could he celebrate the mass without tears shed
And wept for pity at the sins confessed to him.
Through testing days of Whitby Synod calm he stayed,
When Colman, angry and unmoving, split the church
For sake of Easter Day , withdrawing to Iona,
Dividing even Aidan's bones 'twixt him and them.
Submissive Cuthbert, bending to the Roman way,
Desired the peace and furtherance of the holy life,
And rival factions reconciled to join again.
And then he came to Lindisfarne, as prior sent.
St Cuthbert's Island, Lindisfarne
Marked by a cross, an island even holier yet
Stands o'er against the sacred abbey's ruined walls;
Here built the holy man his oratory, cut off
From interference in his communion by tides.
Yet, even wading through the rising waters came
The pilgrims for the Thaumaturgus' blessed words,
That they might find some holy cure, some gracious sign,
Some vestige of the power found in Cuthbert's hands.
To hermitage had turned his thoughts of late,
To escape the constant press of men and women's need;
Thus was he granted leave to sail away to Farne
To share his oraisons with cries only of gulls.
Full nine long years upon that island was his home,
In chapel, where no view of sea nor land could draw
His thoughts from things divine; from Easter to Easter
He removed not his boots of skin from off his feet,
Save for the sacred Maundy's rite of washing them,
In honour of the Lord's great act to Peter.
Yet would he still not turn away the faithful ones
Who braved the vicious sea in boats to hear him speak,
Nor did their hope deceive them , for no man returned
Deprived of the great consolation Cuthbert gave,
Nor yet went back accompanied by sorrowed mind
Which caused his fearful voyage to bring him thither.
But now was Cuthbert troubled by heralds urgent,
Men, sent from Theodore , the Primate bade him come
And receive a bishop's mitre, to be at Hexham,
Thence to shepherd and to guide the northern churches.
He would not - too dear to him was his hermitage
To leave it now, to leave behind devotions' call,
The oratory, the animals, the lowly ducks
He tended on their nests without their scorning him -
To leave his lovely Farne would crush his ageing heart,
To go back to the mire and frenzy of the world -
He could not ! Then came the King himself to beseech
That he should lead them, leave his loneliness and come.
Top
Then Cuthbert heard a voice; a distant voice it was
That rang to him from through the years long since gone by;
Boisil , his beloved prior, whose prophecy
He now, with pain, perceived to be at fulfilment,
'Behold the Servant of the Lord !' He knew the way -
His door he opened, and went out into the day.
'The Lord be praised !', the brothers' voices rose to sing,
And, 'Hail! thou, Hexham's bishop, servant of the Lord!'
Cuthbert smiled wanly, raised his hands in blessing,
Like one surrendering to superior forces,
And spoke; 'The comfort and advising of the weak
Is equal to the sacrifice of prayer. I come.'
St. Cuthbert's pectoral cross
As though he had not laid it down, his zeal renewed,
His work of care and wonders he took up once more.
Exchanging sees with Eata of Lindisfarne ,
Still close he stayed to well-kent places and his home;
Great miracles of healing issued from his prayers -
The plague was stayed, fierce storms were calmed, and many won.
He read men's inmost thoughts and saw their deep desires
Without their telling; of all Lindisfarne's bishops
The most beloved and revered this monk became;
And yet, in all, his garb remained humility.
How many blessed the day God spoke to Boisil first,
Which saying unlocked Cuthbert's heart to bishop them.
Yet, failed his strength and yearned his heart for lonely Farne;
A boat he took, knowing well his days were far spent;
'I shall return when you bring back my body here',
He said. And even in those last few days of life
When storms left Cuthbert desolate, in need of food ,
Those who would challenge winter seas to reach his isle
Were healed and comforted through Cuthbert's drooping hands
And wondered at the strength which dwelt in Cuthbert's heart.
At last, on a spring day, the unction he received
And, lifting up his heavy eyes to heaven,
Stretched forth his hands to magnify his Creator,
And in the very act of praising Him, expired.
Top
They say his body incorruptible was kept,
And cherished by the brothers there at Lindisfarne
Until great waves of violent men crashed on the shores
To pillage and to massacre and to destroy .
The saint's revered remains they did not desecrate,
For faithful men bore off the casket, and in Durham
Layed him finally to rest, this holy being,
Underneath a slab of grey inscribed ,'CUTHBERTUS'.
Cuthbert's tomb, Durham
O Lord, who by this faithful Cuthbert spoke,
Igniting fires of righteousness throughout the land,
Grant that this man may our hearts inspire to serve You,
As we his zeal and patience seek to emulate.
Edinburgh, 9th February 1980 Holy Island
A solitary stretch this is; a place too sacred
To be conjoined to the main, but by a path
Washed daily by the ebb and flow of cleansing tides
To rinse away the traces and the prints of things profane.
Here is a place aloof, a natural hermitage,
A cocoon of greatness, a wild, awesome shrine -
Holy Island , whence, when men were plagued with fear
Of darkness so profound, it passed their simple knowing,
A bolt flew, brilliant as the dawn of time itself,
To raise up Christ and down the demon ignorance,
To bring the fire of God searing through the kingdoms
Of this world, to reach from Forth to Thames , and further.
Here trod bold Aidan first; called by the Northumbrian king
To scatter seed that burgeons into life and faith;
He did not live to see thence spring but tender shoots,
Yet, in his heavenward ascent, one shepherd lad
Did, as famed Elisha saw his lord arise, see him
Borne upward, supported on the arms of angels
And thus did deem it as a vision for his life
To be a monk at Mailros, and to serve Lord Christ,
To serve with labour, study, witness and inspire
His confreres to abide in love, all to forsake
For sake of gaining heaven and the riches there,
And precious lives to liberate from pagan lore.
Top
Cuthbert his name; raised by his mother-nurse, Kenswith ,
He learned the glory of the King of Heaven's love,
As, at her side, his eyes afire with wonder,
He heard the sacred history proclaimed to him.
A fine young man he was, sturdy and flaxen-haired,
Of breeding, not a common serf, but nobly born.
Like his heavenly Master he grew in favour high
And, by his vision, came he up to Prior Boisil ,
The well-loved prior at Mailros, who, on seeing him,
Raised in holy awe his hands toward sky and heaven
And declared for all to hear, prophetically,
As John to Christ, 'Behold, the servant of the Lord !'
Site of Old Mailros, from Scott's View
There Cuthbert learned the skills in which monastics throve,
To read, to copy, memorise and preach Christ's word,
From Boisil, father to the novice youth, in all
A man of holy purity and prophetic grace.
And all along, in Cuthbert grew the peregrine ,
To forge through forest dark, to ford the rivers swift,
To reach the lone, desolate hamlets in their darkness,
To stand beside their village wells and bring them truth
From living springs, which quenched their thirst and brought them life.
Brave man ! Fed by eagles , beloved of seals and otters
Who came to warm his icy feet as he sang psalms
At dead of night, for penance standing in the sea.
Beloved indeed, not only of the lower orders,
But by all those whose lives he graced with his own life;
Scarce could he celebrate the mass without tears shed
And wept for pity at the sins confessed to him.
Through testing days of Whitby Synod calm he stayed,
When Colman, angry and unmoving, split the church
For sake of Easter Day , withdrawing to Iona,
Dividing even Aidan's bones 'twixt him and them.
Submissive Cuthbert, bending to the Roman way,
Desired the peace and furtherance of the holy life,
And rival factions reconciled to join again.
And then he came to Lindisfarne, as prior sent.
St Cuthbert's Island, Lindisfarne
Marked by a cross, an island even holier yet
Stands o'er against the sacred abbey's ruined walls;
Here built the holy man his oratory, cut off
From interference in his communion by tides.
Yet, even wading through the rising waters came
The pilgrims for the Thaumaturgus' blessed words,
That they might find some holy cure, some gracious sign,
Some vestige of the power found in Cuthbert's hands.
To hermitage had turned his thoughts of late,
To escape the constant press of men and women's need;
Thus was he granted leave to sail away to Farne
To share his oraisons with cries only of gulls.
Full nine long years upon that island was his home,
In chapel, where no view of sea nor land could draw
His thoughts from things divine; from Easter to Easter
He removed not his boots of skin from off his feet,
Save for the sacred Maundy's rite of washing them,
In honour of the Lord's great act to Peter.
Yet would he still not turn away the faithful ones
Who braved the vicious sea in boats to hear him speak,
Nor did their hope deceive them , for no man returned
Deprived of the great consolation Cuthbert gave,
Nor yet went back accompanied by sorrowed mind
Which caused his fearful voyage to bring him thither.
But now was Cuthbert troubled by heralds urgent,
Men, sent from Theodore , the Primate bade him come
And receive a bishop's mitre, to be at Hexham,
Thence to shepherd and to guide the northern churches.
He would not - too dear to him was his hermitage
To leave it now, to leave behind devotions' call,
The oratory, the animals, the lowly ducks
He tended on their nests without their scorning him -
To leave his lovely Farne would crush his ageing heart,
To go back to the mire and frenzy of the world -
He could not ! Then came the King himself to beseech
That he should lead them, leave his loneliness and come.
Top
Then Cuthbert heard a voice; a distant voice it was
That rang to him from through the years long since gone by;
Boisil , his beloved prior, whose prophecy
He now, with pain, perceived to be at fulfilment,
'Behold the Servant of the Lord !' He knew the way -
His door he opened, and went out into the day.
'The Lord be praised !', the brothers' voices rose to sing,
And, 'Hail! thou, Hexham's bishop, servant of the Lord!'
Cuthbert smiled wanly, raised his hands in blessing,
Like one surrendering to superior forces,
And spoke; 'The comfort and advising of the weak
Is equal to the sacrifice of prayer. I come.'
St. Cuthbert's pectoral cross
As though he had not laid it down, his zeal renewed,
His work of care and wonders he took up once more.
Exchanging sees with Eata of Lindisfarne ,
Still close he stayed to well-kent places and his home;
Great miracles of healing issued from his prayers -
The plague was stayed, fierce storms were calmed, and many won.
He read men's inmost thoughts and saw their deep desires
Without their telling; of all Lindisfarne's bishops
The most beloved and revered this monk became;
And yet, in all, his garb remained humility.
How many blessed the day God spoke to Boisil first,
Which saying unlocked Cuthbert's heart to bishop them.
Yet, failed his strength and yearned his heart for lonely Farne;
A boat he took, knowing well his days were far spent;
'I shall return when you bring back my body here',
He said. And even in those last few days of life
When storms left Cuthbert desolate, in need of food ,
Those who would challenge winter seas to reach his isle
Were healed and comforted through Cuthbert's drooping hands
And wondered at the strength which dwelt in Cuthbert's heart.
At last, on a spring day, the unction he received
And, lifting up his heavy eyes to heaven,
Stretched forth his hands to magnify his Creator,
And in the very act of praising Him, expired.
Top
They say his body incorruptible was kept,
And cherished by the brothers there at Lindisfarne
Until great waves of violent men crashed on the shores
To pillage and to massacre and to destroy .
The saint's revered remains they did not desecrate,
For faithful men bore off the casket, and in Durham
Layed him finally to rest, this holy being,
Underneath a slab of grey inscribed ,'CUTHBERTUS'.
Cuthbert's tomb, Durham
O Lord, who by this faithful Cuthbert spoke,
Igniting fires of righteousness throughout the land,
Grant that this man may our hearts inspire to serve You,
As we his zeal and patience seek to emulate.
Edinburgh, 9th February 1980
CUTHBERTUS
A poem on the life of St. Cuthbert of Lindisfarne c.634-687ad,
by Colin Symes
W
Holy
Island
A solitary stretch this is; a place too sacred
To be conjoined to the main, but by a path
Washed daily by the ebb and flow of cleansing tides
To rinse away the traces and the prints of things profane.
Here is a place aloof, a natural hermitage,
A cocoon of greatness, a wild, awesome shrine -
Holy Island , whence, when men were plagued with fear
Of darkness so profound, it passed their simple knowing,
A bolt flew, brilliant as the dawn of time itself,
To raise up Christ and down the demon ignorance,
To bring the fire of God searing through the kingdoms
Of this world, to reach from Forth to Thames , and further.
Here trod bold Aidan first; called by the Northumbrian king
To scatter seed that burgeons into life and faith;
He did not live to see thence spring but tender shoots,
Yet, in his heavenward ascent, one shepherd lad
Did, as famed Elisha saw his lord arise, see him
Borne upward, supported on the arms of angels
And thus did deem it as a vision for his life
To be a monk at Mailros, and to serve Lord Christ,
To serve with labour, study, witness and inspire
His confreres to abide in love, all to forsake
For sake of gaining heaven and the riches there,
And precious lives to liberate from pagan lore.
Top
Cuthbert his name; raised by his mother-nurse, Kenswith ,
He learned the glory of the King of Heaven's love,
As, at her side, his eyes afire with wonder,
He heard the sacred history proclaimed to him.
A fine young man he was, sturdy and flaxen-haired,
Of breeding, not a common serf, but nobly born.
Like his heavenly Master he grew in favour high
And, by his vision, came he up to Prior Boisil ,
The well-loved prior at Mailros, who, on seeing him,
Raised in holy awe his hands toward sky and heaven
And declared for all to hear, prophetically,
As John to Christ, 'Behold, the servant of the Lord !'
Site of Old Mailros, from
Scott's View
There Cuthbert learned the skills in which monastics throve,
To read, to copy, memorise and preach Christ's word,
From Boisil, father to the novice youth, in all
A man of holy purity and prophetic grace.
And all along, in Cuthbert grew the peregrine ,
To forge through forest dark, to ford the rivers swift,
To reach the lone, desolate hamlets in their darkness,
To stand beside their village wells and bring them truth
From living springs, which quenched their thirst and brought them life.
Brave man ! Fed by eagles , beloved of seals and otters
Who came to warm his icy feet as he sang psalms
At dead of night, for penance standing in the sea.
Beloved indeed, not only of the lower orders,
But by all those whose lives he graced with his own life;
Scarce could he celebrate the mass without tears shed
And wept for pity at the sins confessed to him.
Through testing days of Whitby Synod calm he stayed,
When Colman, angry and unmoving, split the church
For sake of Easter Day , withdrawing to Iona,
Dividing even Aidan's bones 'twixt him and them.
Submissive Cuthbert, bending to the Roman way,
Desired the peace and furtherance of the holy life,
And rival factions reconciled to join again.
And then he came to Lindisfarne, as prior sent.
St
Cuthbert's Island, Lindisfarne
Marked
by a cross, an island even holier yet
Stands o'er against the sacred abbey's ruined walls;
Here built the holy man his oratory, cut off
From interference in his communion by tides.
Yet, even wading through the rising waters came
The pilgrims for the Thaumaturgus' blessed words,
That they might find some holy cure, some gracious sign,
Some vestige of the power found in Cuthbert's hands.
To hermitage had turned his thoughts of late,
To escape the constant press of men and women's need;
Thus was he granted leave to sail away to Farne
To share his oraisons with cries only of gulls.
Full nine long years upon that island was his home,
In chapel, where no view of sea nor land could draw
His thoughts from things divine; from Easter to Easter
He removed not his boots of skin from off his feet,
Save for the sacred Maundy's rite of washing them,
In honour of the Lord's great act to Peter.
Yet would he still not turn away the faithful ones
Who braved the vicious sea in boats to hear him speak,
Nor did their hope deceive them , for no man returned
Deprived of the great consolation Cuthbert gave,
Nor yet went back accompanied by sorrowed mind
Which caused his fearful voyage to bring him thither.
But now was Cuthbert troubled by heralds urgent,
Men, sent from Theodore , the Primate bade him come
And receive a bishop's mitre, to be at Hexham,
Thence to shepherd and to guide the northern churches.
He would not - too dear to him was his hermitage
To leave it now, to leave behind devotions' call,
The oratory, the animals, the lowly ducks
He tended on their nests without their scorning him -
To leave his lovely Farne would crush his ageing heart,
To go back to the mire and frenzy of the world -
He could not ! Then came the King himself to beseech
That he should lead them, leave his loneliness and come.
Top
Then Cuthbert heard a voice; a distant voice it was
That rang to him from through the years long since gone by;
Boisil , his beloved prior, whose prophecy
He now, with pain, perceived to be at fulfilment,
'Behold the Servant of the Lord !' He knew the way -
His door he opened, and went out into the day.
'The Lord be praised !', the brothers' voices rose to sing,
And, 'Hail! thou, Hexham's bishop, servant of the Lord!'
Cuthbert smiled wanly, raised his hands in blessing,
Like one surrendering to superior forces,
And spoke; 'The comfort and advising of the weak
Is equal to the sacrifice of prayer. I come.'
St. Cuthbert's pectoral cross
As though he had not laid it down, his zeal renewed,
His work of care and wonders he took up once more.
Exchanging sees with Eata of Lindisfarne ,
Still close he stayed to well-kent places and his home;
Great miracles of healing issued from his prayers -
The plague was stayed, fierce storms were calmed, and many won.
He read men's inmost thoughts and saw their deep desires
Without their telling; of all Lindisfarne's bishops
The most beloved and revered this monk became;
And yet, in all, his garb remained humility.
How many blessed the day God spoke to Boisil first,
Which saying unlocked Cuthbert's heart to bishop them.
Yet, failed his strength and yearned his heart for lonely Farne;
A boat he took, knowing well his days were far spent;
'I shall return when you bring back my body here',
He said. And even in those last few days of life
When storms left Cuthbert desolate, in need of food ,
Those who would challenge winter seas to reach his isle
Were healed and comforted through Cuthbert's drooping hands
And wondered at the strength which dwelt in Cuthbert's heart.
At last, on a spring day, the unction he received
And, lifting up his heavy eyes to heaven,
Stretched forth his hands to magnify his Creator,
And in the very act of praising Him, expired.
Top
They say his body incorruptible was kept,
And cherished by the brothers there at Lindisfarne
Until great waves of violent men crashed on the shores
To pillage and to massacre and to destroy .
The saint's revered remains they did not desecrate,
For faithful men bore off the casket, and in Durham
Layed him finally to rest, this holy being,
Underneath a slab of grey inscribed ,'CUTHBERTUS'.
Cuthbert's tomb, Durham
O Lord, who by this faithful Cuthbert spoke,
Igniting fires of righteousness throughout the land,
Grant that this man may our hearts inspire to serve You,
As we his zeal and patience seek to emulate.
Edinburgh, 9th February 1980
CUTHBERTUS
A poem on the life of St.
Cuthbert of Lindisfarne c.634-687ad,
by Colin Symes
W
Holy
Island
A
solitary stretch this is; a place too sacred
To
be conjoined to the main, but by a path
Washed
daily by the ebb and flow of cleansing tides
To
rinse away the traces and the prints of things profane.
Here
is a place aloof, a natural hermitage,
A
cocoon of greatness, a wild, awesome shrine -
Holy
Island , whence, when men were plagued with fear
Of
darkness so profound, it passed their simple knowing,
A
bolt flew, brilliant as the dawn of time itself,
To
raise up Christ and down the demon ignorance,
To
bring the fire of God searing through the kingdoms
Of
this world, to reach from Forth to Thames , and further.
Here
trod bold Aidan first; called by the Northumbrian king
To
scatter seed that burgeons into life and faith;
He
did not live to see thence spring but tender shoots,
Yet,
in his heavenward ascent, one shepherd lad
Did,
as famed Elisha saw his lord arise, see him
Borne
upward, supported on the arms of angels
And
thus did deem it as a vision for his life
To
be a monk at Mailros, and to serve Lord Christ,
To
serve with labour, study, witness and inspire
His
confreres to abide in love, all to forsake
For
sake of gaining heaven and the riches there,
And
precious lives to liberate from pagan lore.
Cuthbert
his name; raised by his mother-nurse, Kenswith ,
He
learned the glory of the King of Heaven's love,
As,
at her side, his eyes afire with wonder,
He
heard the sacred history proclaimed to him.
A
fine young man he was, sturdy and flaxen-haired,
Of
breeding, not a common serf, but nobly born.
Like
his heavenly Master he grew in favour high
And,
by his vision, came he up to Prior Boisil ,
The
well-loved prior at Mailros, who, on seeing him,
Raised
in holy awe his hands toward sky and heaven
And
declared for all to hear, prophetically,
As
John to Christ, 'Behold, the servant of the Lord !'
Site of Old Mailros, from
Scott's View
There
Cuthbert learned the skills in which monastics throve,
To
read, to copy, memorise and preach Christ's word,
From
Boisil, father to the novice youth, in all
A
man of holy purity and prophetic grace.
And
all along, in Cuthbert grew the peregrine ,
To
forge through forest dark, to ford the rivers swift,
To
reach the lone, desolate hamlets in their darkness,
To
stand beside their village wells and bring them truth
From
living springs, which quenched their thirst and brought them life.
Brave
man ! Fed by eagles , beloved of seals and otters
Who
came to warm his icy feet as he sang psalms
At
dead of night, for penance standing in the sea.
Beloved
indeed, not only of the lower orders,
But
by all those whose lives he graced with his own life;
Scarce
could he celebrate the mass without tears shed
And
wept for pity at the sins confessed to him.
Through
testing days of Whitby Synod calm he stayed,
When
Colman, angry and unmoving, split the church
For
sake of Easter Day , withdrawing to Iona,
Dividing
even Aidan's bones 'twixt him and them.
Submissive
Cuthbert, bending to the Roman way,
Desired
the peace and furtherance of the holy life,
And
rival factions reconciled to join again.
And
then he came to Lindisfarne, as prior sent.
St Cuthbert's Island, Lindisfarne
Marked
by a cross, an island even holier yet
Stands
o'er against the sacred abbey's ruined walls;
Here
built the holy man his oratory, cut off
From
interference in his communion by tides.
Yet,
even wading through the rising waters came
The
pilgrims for the Thaumaturgus' blessed words,
That
they might find some holy cure, some gracious sign,
Some
vestige of the power found in Cuthbert's hands.
To
hermitage had turned his thoughts of late,
To
escape the constant press of men and women's need;
Thus
was he granted leave to sail away to Farne
To
share his oraisons with cries only of gulls.
Full
nine long years upon that island was his home,
In
chapel, where no view of sea nor land could draw
His
thoughts from things divine; from Easter to Easter
He
removed not his boots of skin from off his feet,
Save
for the sacred Maundy's rite of washing them,
In
honour of the Lord's great act to Peter.
Yet
would he still not turn away the faithful ones
Who
braved the vicious sea in boats to hear him speak,
Nor
did their hope deceive them , for no man returned
Deprived
of the great consolation Cuthbert gave,
Nor
yet went back accompanied by sorrowed mind
Which
caused his fearful voyage to bring him thither.
But
now was Cuthbert troubled by heralds urgent,
Men,
sent from Theodore , the Primate bade him come
And
receive a bishop's mitre, to be at Hexham,
Thence
to shepherd and to guide the northern churches.
He
would not - too dear to him was his hermitage
To
leave it now, to leave behind devotions' call,
The
oratory, the animals, the lowly ducks
He
tended on their nests without their scorning him -
To
leave his lovely Farne would crush his ageing heart,
To
go back to the mire and frenzy of the world -
He
could not ! Then came the King himself to beseech
That
he should lead them, leave his loneliness and come.
Then
Cuthbert heard a voice; a distant voice it was
That
rang to him from through the years long since gone by;
Boisil
, his beloved prior, whose prophecy
He
now, with pain, perceived to be at fulfilment,
'Behold
the Servant of the Lord !' He knew the way -
His
door he opened, and went out into the day.
'The
Lord be praised !', the brothers' voices rose to sing,
And,
'Hail! thou, Hexham's bishop, servant of the Lord!'
Cuthbert
smiled wanly, raised his hands in blessing,
Like
one surrendering to superior forces,
And
spoke; 'The comfort and advising of the weak
Is
equal to the sacrifice of prayer. I come.'
St. Cuthbert's pectoral cross
As
though he had not laid it down, his zeal renewed,
His
work of care and wonders he took up once more.
Exchanging
sees with Eata of Lindisfarne ,
Still
close he stayed to well-kent places and his home;
Great
miracles of healing issued from his prayers -
The
plague was stayed, fierce storms were calmed, and many won.
He
read men's inmost thoughts and saw their deep desires
Without
their telling; of all Lindisfarne's bishops
The
most beloved and revered this monk became;
And
yet, in all, his garb remained humility.
How
many blessed the day God spoke to Boisil first,
Which
saying unlocked Cuthbert's heart to bishop them.
Yet,
failed his strength and yearned his heart for lonely Farne;
A
boat he took, knowing well his days were far spent;
'I
shall return when you bring back my body here',
He
said. And even in those last few days of life
When
storms left Cuthbert desolate, in need of food ,
Those
who would challenge winter seas to reach his isle
Were
healed and comforted through Cuthbert's drooping hands
And
wondered at the strength which dwelt in Cuthbert's heart.
At
last, on a spring day, the unction he received
And,
lifting up his heavy eyes to heaven,
Stretched
forth his hands to magnify his Creator,
And
in the very act of praising Him, expired.
They
say his body incorruptible was kept,
And
cherished by the brothers there at Lindisfarne
Until
great waves of violent men crashed on the shores
To
pillage and to massacre and to destroy .
The
saint's revered remains they did not desecrate,
For
faithful men bore off the casket, and in Durham
Layed
him finally to rest, this holy being,
Underneath
a slab of grey inscribed ,'CUTHBERTUS'.
Cuthbert's tomb, Durham
O
Lord, who by this faithful Cuthbert spoke,
Igniting
fires of righteousness throughout the land,
Grant
that this man may our hearts inspire to serve You,
As
we his zeal and patience seek to emulate.
