Monday, March 21, 2011

The Cure of Crowland

St. Bartholomew gives Guthlac the scourge, at which point Guthlac begins wildly running about Crowland, like Quixote at the windmills, chasing away the demons that only he can see.

Let God arise, and scattered wide
Be all His enemies (let all His en'mies be)
And let all those who hate His face
Before His presence flee

The brethren, baffled, could not find
The foe at which he flailed
From foe to foe .... fly
His scouring scourge fell from on high
And "Kyrie!" his battle-cry
The demons he assailed

A mad berserker's crazed attack
As feral, fierce and wild
Yet holy joy was in his face
As the running, leaping saint gave chase
A bizzare ballet, a perplexing race
As giddy as a child

Like Jesus in the temple court
With tables tipped and thrown
And just as once in Jericho (or "like Joshua at Jericho")
The walls came tumb'ling down

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