The Rosary
by Andrew Richards

O Mother of God, O Angel Queen most fair,
Smashing your beads they threw them all away
Saying only God could fill their prayer,
But when He Incarnated flesh...were they there?

O Lady of Sorrows, O Blessed Virgin Queen,
You have no place, they say, in apophatic prayer,
O Mother Whose fiat opened heaven's gates,
When He suffered on the Cross...were they there?

O Mary Most Holy, enthroned in heaven above,
A Goddess, they say, of whom we must beware;
The Mother of Faith and Eucharistic Love,
When your "fiat" bore His Son...were they there?

Mary speaks:

"My joy is to praise and magnify the Lord,
For my spirit doth rejoice in God my King.
He that is mighty hath done great things to me,
And in my lowliness all heaven calls me Queen."

"The angel counseled me, 'Fear not Mary,
O Full of grace and blessed of the earth,
For thou hast found favor with God, and henceforth,
All generations shall praise a Christmas birth..

'Thou shalt bring forth a son and call Him 'Jesus,'
He shall be great and holy of the Most High God,
And He shall reign from David's throne forever,
For His coming shall divert God's vengeful rod.'

"Dear children, let all ye afflicted ones rejoice,
Praise the mystery of the grace from His rod,
For His Mercy now does have a human voice,
In my little one, the newborn Son of God."

"So ye children of Earth, speak without fear,
Of your praise for the Lion made most meek,
Rejecting power, He gave His flesh most dear,
That through death your salvation He might seek."

O Beautiful Mary, O Lady of the Stars,
Your flesh did give birth to Jesus' salvation,
And your Rosary is blest with contemplative prayer,
God's Love from the beads prayed in each nation.

O Holy Beads of Prayer, you Magnify the Lord,
In the beauty streaming from the Savior's face,
From this Christocentric school, the true reward,
Mary's Son, the Glory of the human race.

End

IS THAT ALL THERE IS?
by Andrew Richards

Is that all there is? I asked one day,
When seeing myself in the glass,
For I am old and have lost my way,
Surely there's more life to grasp.

I see the wrinkled face forlorn,
It seems the world has passed me by,
The vanished years since I was born,
Now memories that fade and die.

Although you'd never know it now,
I lived life full, with future bright,
From center stage I oft would bow,
The world's applause was my delight.

But now I'm old and racked with pain,
I'm all alone with none to care,
The ones I loved did not remain,
In loneliness I now despair.

Yet still I feel that life holds more,
There's oft a stirring in my soul,
A sense of hope, a far off shore,
Which speaks of yet a greater goal.

And yet such goals I'd never fret,
I took life as it came each day,
What ere I needed, I could get,
I tasted all that came my way.

Those days are gone and now I see,
Unanswered questions yet remain,
My lonely soul calls out to me,
"You know there's more!" with great disdain.

End

God of the Nights
by Andrew Richards

I longed for God, yet couldn't pray,
My painful mind could find no rest,
The pages I read, had nothing to say,
They no longer fired my spirit with zest.

My mind was busy with this and that,
With thoughts of things I yet must do,
I perused the world from where I sat,
I crossed the sky, and continents too.

I thought of work, and then of her,
I thought of people I had known,
Of times gone by, gone for sure,
I saw the family I had grown.

On it went, this image parade,
Repeating the history of my life,
My life of prayer had become a charade,
A movie show of storm and strife.

And yet I felt a heavenly pull,
Promising peace from the midst of all this,
And suddenly, I let it all go,
And another dimension filled me with bliss.

I let go of thought, I let go of change,
I watched the slideshow from a different place,
Enticing new images drawn from the range,
Of urgent demands could not enter my space.

From this quiet cell, I rested from strife,
I knew higher peace though my mind yet did boil,
Making urgent demands to take note of this life,
And disasters that come when resting from toil.

For there's a "still" place, a cell in my soul,
Where the quieted mind holds waters of bliss,
It pours forth the power to kill the false-self,
And the world of demands making mockery of this.

So let Love fill your heart without any motion,
When joining your prayer to the one from on high,
Stay in this cell, which holds peace like an ocean,
A contemplative world, Where Love will not die.

End

The Stream of Life
by Andrew Richrds

The stream of life flows ever into me, becoming consciousness;
It brings me the world from moment to moment.
I remain at one with its flow, and share in its power, as I
accept its
Implicit demand for unselfish love in every new circumstance.
All things, even negative events, strengthen my union with the stream
As I resist the selfish and separative pull of my own fears and desires.
I live through highs and lows, as they rise and fall within the mysterious flow,
And through it all, I retain my place, unmoved, within the changing stream called life.

St Francis
by Andrew Richards

For many years as most people know,
Saint Francis did flee from God's hand,
Then God in a ruined Church did show,
His Love through a strange command.

Led by the Spirit, he went in to pray,
A man struggling with God in his soul,
A man transformed came out that day,
And "Repair My House!" was his goal.

The Crucified Christ called Francis that day,
From spiritual sleep, he called him to wake,
"Look at my Church, It's all in decay!"
"Together through Love a New Church we'll make!"

So Francis began the Church to restore,
An artist by nature he did not recoil,
From labor and sweat, he gave more and more,
With plaster and bricks for God he did toil.

And even today, Francis works while he sings,
As he rebuids the Church through the ages,
When faith's in decay, renewed faith he brings,
Bringing Christ to a world where sin rages.

"All praise is Yours, Lord Jesus my King,
Forgiving the men who do you wrong,
Your saving Cross all souls do bring,
From darkness of hell to heavenly song."

End

The Mustard Seed
by Andrew Richards

The beat of the drums promised death and despair,
All faith was lost as I shook with their fury,
Bam! bam bam bam bam bam bam bam!
Louder they got as my hope died in worry.

I fell down in a heap preparing to die,
When all hope is gone, there's no reason to try,
No mountain will move when faith's mustard seed's dead,
Our Saviour's promise played round in my head.

All courage was buried by a mountain of fear,
As the beat of the drums grew more fierce in my ear,
I gave out a cry, a weak prayer as I cowered,
"Lord, let this mountain give way to your power."

Then off in the distance, a small sound from the rear,
Through the beat of the drums bagpipes I could hear,
Such a very small sound 'gainst a mountainous beat,
Yet a doorway of hope through a wall of defeat,

I rose from the ground, new strength over fear,
While the drums and the pipes clashed in the rear,
The battle did rage till by late afternoon,
There was only the pipes and their glorious tune.

So though but a seed, great is faith's Power,
Like the small sound of pipes, coming late in the hour,
It's smashes through fear we cannot budge,
And lights with God's vision all that we judge.