A soldier born of soldiers' stock,
Alegionary did he serve;
The best of civilised military,
Great, noble men of nerve;
And pagan virtues still ran strong
In the blood of these good men,
But pagan virtues never could
Know the One Who alone is good-
Impossible, unless He would
Reveal it unto them.
A generation lost in space
Craves blindly for a sign;
And sometimes God, despite all odds,
Hears them that call out to the gods,
And grants sight to the blind.
And not always in words He speaks
For ears are sometimes slow;
As man will make a metaphor,
So God will, in His wisdom sure,
Be seen in ways one can't ignore
In one man's life below.
And so of George I deign to write,
The soldier of the Lord,
A Christian bearing Roman arms
Whose prayers are now his sword.
Of war and dragon's death I rhyme,
Of bloodied gladius,
Of willing martyrdom sublime-
O St George, pray for us.
MacKillop-Woods Way Pilgrimage 2018 – Day Seven (22 April) – Narooma to Bodalla via Potato Point - I woke early before dawn on Sunday morning having slept like a log in the big comfortable bed at Marg Latimer’s home. The good food and wine and company (a...
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