The Boy Martyr of Norwich
Far in the thickest wood the fair lad lies
A rosy radiance plays around his head
Tall trees rise black upon the midnight skies
Save where a silver beam reveals the dead.
Magnificat he sang at evensong
And then when music hushed and lamps were low
Alone he homeward went nor dreamed of wrong
And in the still moonlight with footsteps slow
From a dark entry sprang a Jewish horde
Like fiends around the gentle boy they stood
And, as in ages dim they slew his Lord,
Nailed to a cross his white limbs stained with blood.
But God’s sweet Mother grants him strength to bear
That fadeless diadem which martyrs wear.
—- Frederick Rolfe (1899)
THIS modern poem about St. William of Norwich commemorates a twelfth-century, English saint whose feast day is today.
According to Rev. Alban Butler, in his Lives of the Saints:
“He suffered in the twelfth year of his age . . . a little before Easter, in 1137, the Jews of that city seized and gagged him: then they bound, mocked and crucified him, in derision of Christ: they also pierced his left side.”
Let me invoke the Catholic practice of praying for the intercession of the saint of the day with a prayer of my own:
Pray for us, St. William of Norwich — and pray for all those who by a thousand cruel cuts have had their lives damaged or destroyed in modern times by ritual abuse and defamation from collective Jewry, whether it be “Holocaust deniers” confined in jails in Europe or those seeking the truth on numerous other subjects under the onerous stigma of “hate” and “anti-semitism.” Their sacrifice cannot approximate yours, dear saint. Nevertheless, gentle martyr, please pray for their courage in the face of wanton cruelty. Father, please forgive these powerful imitators of Caiphas and Annas, for they know not what they do.
*******
Lord, I am nothing, but although nothing, I adore Thee.
(R. Cardinal Merry del Val)
