Lovely poetry about Candlemas, the beautiful Feast of the Purification, Presentation of the Lord

Candlemas is coming up, the Feast of the Purification, as it is traditionally called. 

We call it Candlemas because, with the references to light in the liturgy, we bless candles.

Candlemas is the conclusion of the Advent/Christmas cycle.  We are 40 days from the Nativity of our Lord.  Liturgically, the Marian Antiphon and response changes.  We have been singing Alma Redemptoris Mater since the beginning of Advent.  This ends on Candlemas.   Hereafter we sing Ave Regina Caelorum through Lent until Spy Wednesday of Holy Week.

Because of the antiquity of the feast, there are many cultural traditions for its celebration.  For example, in some French speaking regions it is customary to eat crêpes, in Mexico tamales.   I am contemplating the other Christmas pudding I made this year.

Also, I now have a beautiful crêpe pan sent some time ago from my wishlist by a kind reader.

Here are some poems for Candlemas.

First and foremost, making a reference to the removal of Christmas decorations, is a lovely poem by Robert Herrick (+1674).  In some places, people take down their decorations on Twelfth Night.  In others, Candlemas.

This poem traces something of the shifting seasons of the liturgical year and reminds us of the bitter and sweet passing of time.

Ceremony Upon Candlemas Eve
by Robert Herrick

Down with the rosemary, and so
Down with the bays and misletoe ;
Down with the holly, ivy, all,
Wherewith ye dress’d the Christmas Hall :
That so the superstitious find
No one least branch there left behind :
For look, how many leaves there be
Neglected, there (maids, trust to me)
So many goblins you shall see.

And the longer version of the same…

Down with the rosemary and bays,
Down with the mistletow;
Instead of holly now upraise
The greener box for show.

The holly hitherto did sway,
Let box now domineer,
Until the dancing Easter day,
Or Easter’s Eve appear.

Then youthful box which now hath grace
Your houses to renew,
Grown old, surrender must his place
Unto the crisped yew.

When yew is out, then birth comes in,
And many flowers beside,
Both of a fresh and fragrant kin,
To honour Whitsuntide. [Pentecost]

Green rushes then, and sweetest bents,
With cooler oaken boughs,
Come in for comly ornaments,
To readorn the house.

Thus times do shift;
Each thing his turn doth hold;
New things succeed,
As former things grow old.

I do like that last stanza, which is taken up in a lovely rendering of the poem, by Kate Rusby from a Christmas album – US HERE – UK HERE.

Next, something quite old and in an ancestor of Modern English.  It is from a manuscript in the Bodleian Library (MS Eng. poet. e. I, f. 38 f.).  To pronounce it you have to get some of the Norman French back into your tongue.  Here it is with a cheat version.

When I hear that Latin revértere, I immediately call to mind two moments in the Old Testament.  First, in the Lamentations of Jeremiah, Jerusalem is called to “turn about and go back” to the Lord.  Also, and more important for this carol, the Song of Songs comes up: Revertere revertere Sulamitis revertere revertere ut intueamur te HERE

Revertere… turn around and for the last time gaze back at the joy of Christmas.

Of course we have to have something from Rossetti (+1894)

A Candlemas Dialogue

by Christina Georgina Rossetti (after 1891)

‘Love brought Me down: and cannot love make thee
Carol for joy to Me?
Hear cheerful robin carol from his tree,
Who owes not half to Me
I won for thee.’

‘Yea, Lord, I hear his carol’s wordless voice;
And well may he rejoice
Who hath not heard of death’s discordant noise.
So might I too rejoice
With such a voice.’

‘True, thou hast compassed death: but hast not thou
The tree of life’s own bough?
Am I not Life and Resurrection now?
My Cross, balm-bearing bough
For such as thou.’

‘Ah me, Thy Cross! – but that seems far away;
Thy Cradle-song to-day
I too would raise and worship Thee and pray:
Not empty, Lord, to-day
Send me away.’

‘If thou wilt not go empty, spend thy store;
And I will give thee more,
Yea, make thee ten times richer than before.
Give more and give yet more
Out of thy store.’

‘Because Thou givest me Thyself, I will
Thy blessed word fulfil,
Give with both hands, and hoard by giving still:
Thy pleasure to fulfil,
And work Thy Will.’

How about a couple more?

Mary’s Purification

Sr. M. Bernetta, O.S.F. Robert, Cyril. Our Lady’s Praise In Poetry.
Poughkeepsie, New York: Marist Press, 1944.

Out went the stupid to wash the snow,
To cleanse the lily of Christ.
Wouldn’t you think that they all should know
The pearl who couldn’t be priced?
Wiser to purify the crystal stone,
To call the tulip unclean,
Than to wash the rose that God’s hand had sown,
Young Mary, the innocent Queen.

Candlemas

Francesca Franciscan Magazine – February 1960

The Mother brings her Candle
To the Temple of Desire,
In wax of flesh and weakness
But soul-wick full of fire!
A light to pierce the darkness,
Redemption for our race,
The gift of expiation
Before our Father’s face!
A flame of contradiction
To tyrant, Gentile, Jew,
But holocaust for ages,
Each dawn will see anew!
O take your Candle, Mary,
Too soon you’ll suffer loss
In Love’s great conflagration
On the altar of the Cross!

Finally… St. John Henry Newman’s 1849 poem “Candlemas”:

The Angel-lights of Christmas morn,
Which shot across the sky,
Away they pass at Candlemas,
They sparkle and they die.

Comfort of earth is brief at best,
Although it be divine;
Like funeral lights for Christmas gone,
Old Simeon’s tapers shine.

And then for eight long weeks and more,
We wait in twilight grey,
Till the high candle sheds a beam
On Holy Saturday.

We wait along the penance-tide
Of solemn fast and prayer;
While song is hush’d, and lights grow dim
In the sin-laden air. {280}

And while the sword in Mary’s soul
Is driven home, we hide
In our own hearts, and count the wounds
Of passion and of pride.

And still, though Candlemas be spent
And Alleluias o’er,
Mary is music in our need,
And Jesus light in store.