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Tommy Beavitt
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Basil's Hymn
St. Basil's Hymn
Hear us, Basil, as we chant our solemn prayers!
Each inhalation as you move beside the sayers,
In our weakness, we can only raise them up to you
In the vessel, the passing of the cup to you.
Beauty that's unfolded in each tender flower,
Boundless wisdom at the most distressful hour
Each portentous cloud that bears a silver lining
Constant source of delight in all its shining.
I hear my mother's prayer, as she was always wont
See my daughter as she stands before the font
As stood her grandmother – so, deep into our history,
Glad to partake in this endless world of mystery.
In these canticles, old harmonies are heard,
Long forgotten aches in singing them are stirred;
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Echoes of creation, Byzantine, Slav and Celt
Let old sins not to be measured, only felt!
Neighbours merge together somehow on the plate,
Our philosopher, St. Basil, now the Great,
Watching the reflection of all the faces glisten,
Modest, unassuming as you listen.
And in my mind's eye, preternaturally bright,
I see my long-dead father stand up at full height –
As the image burns to banish all affliction
I know he also feels this benediction.
One by one, the candles putter out so slightly,
In the evening sky the first star twinkles brightly,
And from church to home our quick steps never falter
My left hand clasps the fingers of my daughter.
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