Celebrating Joan of Arc on Bastille Day!

Hello everyone – 

Today, in honor of Bastille Day, I’d like to share with you a sequence of four poems about St. Joan of Arc (1412-1431), the French patriot who helped to turn the tide of the Hundred Years’ War (1337-1453) and ensured an eventual French victory.  These poems were penned by another French saint, Therese of Lisieux (1873-1897), during her closing years, when the Roman Catholic Church was preparing to canonize Joan. Today, six centuries after her lifetime, Joan is still remembered and admired throughout the world as a visionary, patriot, military commander, and pioneer of women’s rights.

A word here about saints, before we read the poems: Holy people are found throughout the world’s religious traditions; no religion holds a monopoly on sanctity or on saint-making. We should also bear in mind that saints are NOT perfect – just heroic.

 

HYMN OF JEANNE D'ARC AFTER HER VICTORIES

VICTORIES:

All honor and all glory be

          To Thee, the Eternal King of kings!

For Thou hast given the victory

          To me, a frail and feeble thing.

And thou, dear Mother, pure as snow,

          Most lovely star, sublimely bright!

Oh, thou hast been my light below,

         Protecting me in danger's night.

Thou, Queen, whose glories ne'er shall fail,

          When shall mine eyes thy splendors see?

When shall I rest beneath thy veil,

          Never again to part from thee?

Hail, Mary! Holy Mother, hail!

My exiled spirit fain would fly

          To heavenly joys that have no end;

Naught here its needs can satisfy,

          It craves for God, its perfect Friend.

But, ere that sweet reward begin,

          I long to combat for Him here,

For Him unnumbered souls to win,

          And find Him dearer and more dear.

My exile here will pass away,

          As the day passes and is gone;

Then, up the radiant, sunlit way,

          My happy soul shall hasten on,

To see my God in endless day.

 

PRAYER OF JEANNE D'ARC IN PRISON

My voices this foretold: I am a prisoner here,

          No aid can I expect, except, my God, from Thee;

For love of Thee alone, I left my father dear;

          My flower-decked fields, blue skies, my flocks, no more I see.

For Thee I left my home and her who gave me birth;

          Then, lifting in my hand the standard of Thy choice,

Lord, in Thy holy Name, I led an army forth,

          And far-famed generals then gave credence to my voice.

Behold my recompense – this gloomy prison-place,

          The price of all my toils, my prayers, my blood, my tears!

No more my flowery fields my longing eyes shall face,

          Nor shall I see the home of all my childhood years.

No more shall I behold the mountains far away,

          Whose distant summits seemed to pierce the azure sky;

And I shall hear no more the church-bells sweetly play.

          How soft upon the air those holy notes swept by!

Here, in this gloomy cell, the star I seek in vain,

         That used, at vesper hour, to shine so clear and fair;

In vain I seek the leaves, that when upon the plain

          Beside my flock I slept, gave cooling shelter there.

Here, when at last I sleep after long bitter weeping,

          Of morning's flowers I dream, and perfumes of the dawn;

But then my clanking chains disturb that happy sleeping,

          I wake – my dream is past – the verdant fields are gone.

Lord, for Thy love I go, martyrdom to embrace;

         For Thee I dare to meet the lingering death of fire.

Now but one wish is mine, – to see Thee face to face,

          No more to part from Thee: – behold my heart's desire!

To die for love of Thee, – what happier lot than this?

          I will take up my cross, and walk where Thou hast trod.

Ah! how I long to die, and enter into bliss!

          Ah! how I long to die, and thus to see my God!

 

THE VOICES OF JEANNE D'ARC DURING HER MARTYRDOM:

We have come down from heaven's eternal height,

          To smile on thee and bear thee to thy rest.

See in our hands the immortal crown of light,

          Designed to grace thy brow, O maiden blest!

Come with us, virgin pure and fair!

          Oh! come where saints and martyrs trod;

Come unto joys beyond compare,

Come unto life most fair,

          Daughter of God!

Hot bums the fire about thy tender frame,

          But far more hotly burns thy holy love;

Soon Christ will call thee to Him by thy name,

          And heavenly dews shall soothe thee from above.

An angel comes to set thee free

         From every pain; from torture wild.

Behold, the palm descends to thee!

Look up! thy Savior see,

          Great-hearted child!

O virgin-martyr! one brief moment's pain

         Thee shall conduct to heaven beside thy Lord.

Thy death saves France. See! heaven opens again

          To her lost children ransomed by thy sword.

JEANNE, DYING:

To my eternal home I fly;

          Angelic faces meet my view

In God's great Name for France I die!

          O Mary, now be nigh!

"Jesu!  Jesu!"

 

Joan of Arc, as depicted in a 15^th-century French manuscript.

 

Happy Bastille Day! 😊

Libertas! Aequalitas! Fraternitas!

 

Rob