The Purple Thread
'The priests distributed various coloured silken threads to weave for the veil of the sanctuary; and it fell to Mary's lot to weave purple.'
—The Book of the Bee, ch. XXXIV.
I
THE chosen maidens, Weavers of the Veil,
Kneeling in crescent, from the High Priest took
Their wisps of silk in slender hands that shook
Lifting the colors to their lips rose-pale
With holy passion, —colors like the frail
Spring flowers of Carmel, blue as that glad look
Of dancing iris, scarlet as a nook
Of wild anemones, or gold as sail
Seen from its summit 'neath the Syrian moon.
But Mary caught her breath in one swift sob
Of pain uncomprehended ere it fled,
Leaving her heart with some strange fear a-throb,
For the wise priest, as one conferring boon,
Had meted out to her a purple thread.
II
O mothers of the race, ye blessèd ones
Who weave with cherubim the veil before
The Holy Place of God, the mystic door
Of life, proud mothers of belovèd sons,
To-day you send them forth to front the guns,
Waving your boys farewell with smiles that pour
Strength into their young souls. Your prayers implore
The Mercy Seat; your love, an angel, runs
Before them with wild, shielding arms outspread.
O Weavers of the Veil, however varies
The silk assigned, exceeding great reward
Is yours, for you —O you, most sacred Maries,
To whom is given grief's royal, purple thread —
Make beautiful the temple of the Lord.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Related quotes
Indian Weavers
WEAVERS, weaving at break of day,
Why do you weave a garment so gay? . . .
Blue as the wing of a halcyon wild,
We weave the robes of a new-born child.
Weavers, weaving at fall of night,
Why do you weave a garment so bright? . . .
Like the plumes of a peacock, purple and green,
We weave the marriage-veils of a queen.
Weavers, weaving solemn and still,
What do you weave in the moonlight chill? . . .
White as a feather and white as a cloud,
We weave a dead man's funeral shroud.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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Weave In, Weave In, My Hardy Life
WEAVE in! weave in, my hardy life!
Weave yet a soldier strong and full, for great campaigns to come;
Weave in red blood! weave sinews in, like ropes! the senses, sight
weave in!
Weave lasting sure! weave day and night the weft, the warp, incessant
weave! tire not!
(We know not what the use, O life! nor know the aim, the end--nor
really aught we know;
But know the work, the need goes on, and shall go on--the death-
envelop'd march of peace as well as war goes on;)
For great campaigns of peace the same, the wiry threads to weave;
We know not why or what, yet weave, forever weave.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Rome Unvisited
I.
THE corn has turned from grey to red,
Since first my spirit wandered forth
From the drear cities of the north,
And to Italia's mountains fled.
And here I set my face towards home,
For all my pilgrimage is done,
Although, methinks, yon blood-red sun
Marshals the way to Holy Rome.
O Blessed Lady, who dost hold
Upon the seven hills thy reign!
O Mother without blot or stain,
Crowned with bright crowns of triple gold!
O Roma, Roma, at thy feet
I lay this barren gift of song!
For, ah! the way is steep and long
That leads unto thy sacred street.
II.
And yet what joy it were for me
To turn my feet unto the south,
And journeying towards the Tiber mouth
To kneel again at Fiesole!
And wandering through the tangled pines
That break the gold of Arno's stream,
To see the purple mist and gleam
Of morning on the Apennines.
By many a vineyard-hidden home,
Orchard, and olive-garden grey,
Till from the drear Campagna's way
The seven hills bear up the dome!
III.
A pilgrim from the northern seas--
What joy for me to seek alone
The wondrous Temple, and the throne
Of Him who holds the awful keys!
When, bright with purple and with gold,
Come priest and holy Cardinal,
And borne above the heads of all
The gentle Shepherd of the Fold.
O joy to see before I die
The only God-anointed King,
And hear the silver trumpets ring
A triumph as He passes by!
Or at the altar of the shrine
Holds high the mystic sacrifice,
And shows a God to human eyes
Beneath the veil of bread and wine.
IV.
For lo, what changes time can bring!
The cycles of revolving years
May free my heart from all its fears,--
And teach my lips a song to sing.
Before yon field of trembling gold
Is garnered into dusty sheaves,
Or ere the autumn's scarlet leaves
Flutter as birds adown the wold,
I may have run the glorious race,
And caught the torch while yet aflame,
And called upon the holy name
Of Him who now doth hide His face.
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Spring's Bower
Spring’s Bower
Ah! Woe is me the veil I see
The veil of death hangs lower.
And e’re my spirit passes from me
I will see again Spring’s Bower.
Awaiting death must stay his hand
For my life has one more hour.
And tho’ I close my eyes this day
I will again see Spring’s Bower.
“Tis tho’ my life were but a thread
Of what life had to shower.
There is still just time before I’m dead,
Time enough to see Spring’s Bower
Take me I pray to the window seat,
Clutch to thy breast the flower
Which I plucked when last we did meet,
'Neath our beautiful Spring Bower.
poem by Robert Harrison
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Life of a Roman Catholic Priest
A priest is nearest Christ;
A priest is Christ at times;
A priest is almost Christ;
A priest is most divine.
A priest is God’s shepherd;
A priest must tend to flock;
A priest must be like ‘rock’;
A priest should ne’er defrock.
A priest communes with God;
A priest draws hope from Lord;
A priest shows love of Christ;
A priest carries His Cross!
A priest is tempted too;
A priest has falls in life;
A priest falters also;
A priest has strength from Christ.
A priestly job is tough;
A priest’s life can turn rough;
A priest has strife enough,
But has to smile and laugh!
A priest helps harvest souls;
A priest has many roles;
A priest has but one goal –
To drink from Christ’s own bowl!
Pray that more priests should come;
May priests curb their freedom;
May priest usher Kingdom;
A life for Christ’s welcome.
Fondly dedicated to Rev. Fr. Xavier Claudius,
Beloved Parish priest, ‘Holy Family Church, Perundurai
Copyright by Dr John Celes 25-7-2010
poem by John Celes
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The Summer Sea
Soft soft wind, from out the sweet south sliding,
Waft thy silver cloud webs athwart the summer sea;
Thin thin threads of mist on dewy fingers twining
Weave a veil of dappled gauze to shade my babe and me.
Deep deep Love, within thine own abyss abiding,
Pour Thyself abroad, O Lord, on earth and air and sea;
Worn weary hearts within Thy holy temple hiding,
Shield from sorrow, sin, and shame my helpless babe and me.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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Some people weave burlap into the fabric of our lives, and some weave gold thread. Both contribute to make the whole picture beautiful and unique.
The True Aaron
See Aaron, God's anointed priest,
Within the veil appear;
In robes of mystic meaning dressed,
Presenting Israel's prayer.
The plate of gold which crowns his brows,
His holiness describes;
His breast displays, in shining rows,
The names of all the tribes.
With the atoning blood he stands,
Before the mercy-seat;
And clouds of incense from his hands,
Arise with odor sweet.
Urim and Thummim near his heart,
In rich engravings worn;
The sacred light of truth impart,
To teach and to adorn.
Through him the eye of faith descries,
A greater Priest than he;
Thus Jesus pleads above the skies,
For you, my friends, and me.
He bears the names of all his saints,
Deep on his heart engraved;
Attentive to the state and wants
Of all his love has saved.
In him a holiness complete,
Light and perfections shine;
And wisdom, grace, and glory meet;
A Saviour all divine.
The blood, which as a Priest he bears
For sinners, is his own
The incense of his prayers and tears
Perfume the holy throne.
In him my weary soul has rest,
Though I am weak and vile
I read my name upon his breast,
And see the Father smile.
poem by John Newton
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Choose Your Color
I will paint the walls blue
Blue is calm, blue is power
Blue is the color of tranquility
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the ceiling green
Green is healthy, green is peace
Green makes time move faster
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the floor red
Red is fire, red is danger
Red is the symbol of passion
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the sky purple
Purple is sad, purple is gloomy
Purple is the color of romance
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the tree black
Black is fear, black is death
Black is the symbol of grief
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the street yellow
Yellow is happy, yellow is fresh
Yellow is the color of sunshine
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the fence orange
orange is wisdom, orange is wealth
Orange is the color of success
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint everything white
White is good, white is pure
White is the color of faith
Have you seen my colors yet?
(August 16th,2006)
poem by Christopher G. Turner
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The Bridal
Last night a pale young Moon was wed
Unto the amorous, eager Sea;
Her maiden veil of mist she wore
His kingly purple vesture, he.
With her a bridal train of stars
Walked sisterly through shadows dim,
And, master minstrel of the world,
The great Wind sang the marriage hymn.
Thus came she down the silent sky
Unto the Sea her faith to plight,
And the grave priest who wedded them
Was ancient, sombre-mantled Night.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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My Imagination of a Purple Sky
I imagined a Purple Sky today from dawn till dusk.
A gold moon and millions of gold stars lit across this silk sheet of a Purple Sky.
And then it rained streaks of fine gold.
The majestic sky then decided to be very generous and poured down tremendous amounts of Rubies, Diamonds and Sapphires.
All different colours, shapes and sizes.
A great big King then appeared radiant in the Purple Sky and looked down at me with such a delight...
I was atonished with joy!
He was wearing a dazzling gold crown encrusted with millions of white diamonds and a crushed Purple velvet gown with such a long train.
It was certainly a sight for my sore eyes.
Here.. he said come take me hand... I want you to be the Queen of this Purple Sky, but most importantly be the Queen of my Purple Heart....
He swept me off my feet and we sat in the great heights of his Kingdom in the Purple Sky drinking goblets of wine.
A colleague then tapped my shoulder and notified me I was late for a meeting! ! ! ! !
I then discovered something strange as I put my hand into my jacket pocket out appeared a beautiful Purple Ruby ring.....
poem by Premila Patel
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I Dont Need to Understand
The problems of this world are large,
lifes trials are so demanding.
I need a God beyond my ken,
beyond my understanding.
I've not the means to know each thread
within life’s knitted veil,
but He that works the Weavers wheel,
knows every strand so well.
So I lift my prayer to He who knows,
in He that loves His own.
I know full well He hears, He helps...
and to whom my prayers are flown.
I leave the details to my God
and trust that in His grace,
He will keep me close within His arms,
in His healing... warm embrace..
-Perry Biggerstaff
poem by Perry Biggerstaff
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The Color Purple
a friend of mine is obsessed with purple
she says it's a royal color
fits for kings and queens
and she feels like a princess
on her purple hair
her purple dress
and purple bra and
purple shoes
the walls of her house are painted
the railings of the stairs
the windows
the doors are all purple now
the flowers in her garden
and the leaves of her trees
the grass
all purple too
her speech is purple too
the movies she watch are all in the shade of purple
her car turned purple too
royal color that is what she says
i tell her bluntly, ' You are boring, purple! '
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fade To Purple
As if Im sitting on purple clouds
Covered in purple shrouds
Singing purple kissed melodies loud
The Purple Master himself would be proud
Gifted, these fragrant purple flowers
Soaking wet, drenched from purple showers
Lifted, high high high atop purple towers
Yet as I walk through purple haze rooms
Filled with purple phased fumes
Im enlightened by the purple tazed blooms
Purple vibes that remove crazed glooms
Hungry I appetize on purple wood blunts
To then feast upon a purple smoke lunch
Break bread, along with the purple grape bunch
Fade To Purple To Get Me Through The Crunch
poem by Jamie Ellen Christian
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Night Woman
she lifts the veil
covering her face
she lies on her
purple silk bed
she slides the
curtains back
and then she
closes her eyes
and begins to
take her sleep.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Meetings
As up and down I fare by road and street
The mothers of our men-at-arms I meet
Who die for mine and me,
That we go safe and free,
Sit in the sun, sleep soft and find life sweet.
I have two sons too young to fight, too young,
God grant if my hour comes I may be strong,
And caught in such a strait
May praise God and be great,
Giving my sons to save some woman from wrong!
Oh, mothers of dead heroes, ye I know,
My heart sends you a greeting, soft and low;
Blessed are ye whose sons
Amid the ransomed ones
Throng to the banners of Heaven as white as snow.
Somehow, by some secret and certain sign,
The mothers of the beloved I divine
Who died in my sons' place.
My heart kneels and gives grace.
Gives thanks for you, for you, proud sisters of mine!
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Endymion
THE apple trees are hung with gold,
And birds are loud in Arcady,
The sheep lie bleating in the fold,
The wild goat runs across the wold,
But yesterday his love he told,
I know he will come back to me.
O rising moon! O Lady moon!
Be you my lover's sentinel,
You cannot choose but know him well,
For he is shod with purple shoon,
You cannot choose but know my love,
For he a shepherd's crook doth bear,
And he is soft as any dove,
And brown and curly is his hair.
The turtle now has ceased to call
Upon her crimson-footed groom,
The grey wolf prowls about the stall,
The lily's singing seneschal
Sleeps in the lily-bell, and all
The violet hills are lost in gloom.
O risen moon! O holy moon!
Stand on the top of Helice,
And if my own true love you see,
Ah! if you see the purple shoon,
The hazel crook, the lad's brown hair,
The goat-skin wrapped about his arm,
Tell him that I am waiting where
The rushlight glimmers in the Farm.
The falling dew is cold and chill,
And no bird sings in Arcady,
The little fauns have left the hill,
Even the tired daffodil
Has closed its gilded doors, and still
My lover comes not back to me.
False moon! False moon! O waning moon!
Where is my own true lover gone,
Where are the lips vermilion,
The shepherd's crook, the purple shoon?
Why spread that silver pavilion,
Why wear that veil of drifting mist?
Ah! thou hast young Endymion,
Thou hast the lips that should be kissed!
poem by Oscar Wilde
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What is Purple?
Purple is a mystery.
Purple is happiness.
Purple is home.
Purple is a sanctuary.
And Purple is my own.
A little place in my mind.
A little sunshine in my day.
Purple is who I am.
And Purple is magic.
poem by Kylee Bartz
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Purple Pain-A Parody
Inspired by Barny the purple dinosaur
Parody of Prince's song Purple Rain
Purple pain
You were always meant I know
To cause me sorrow
You were always meant I know
To make me wanna bleed my own blood and gouge out my eyes
You were always meant I know
To cause me pain
Now all I ever want
Since I saw you on my tv screen is for you
You damm purple pain to drown
In the purple rain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
I only want to see you drowning in the purple rain
Oh you damm purple pain
I never wanted my kids to love you
I only thought of you as some kind of fiend
Barney, I could never stand you for another minute
So my television now I must turn off
Even through I know it would make my babies cry
It's such a shame that your lifetime has't come to a end
Oh, oh yes it is
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
I only wanted to see you drown
You damm purple pain
In the purple rain
Oh yes it's true
Purple pain
In the purple rain
Honey, you must know
You must know
The channel I'm a changin'
It's time we all tune in to something new
That means not you
You say you could be a rating's leader
But your agent just can't seem to speak his mind
At the right time
I think you had better fire him
And let me drown you
You damm purple pain
In the purple rain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
If you know who I'm singing about up here
C'mon raise your remote
Purple pain
Purple pain
I only want to see you
See you drown
Oh yeah, drown
You purple pain
In the purple rain
2007 Ramona Thompson
poem by Ramona Thompson
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The Purple Sage
Purple sage is a beautiful thing,
Flowering in violet,
In winter or spring.
The leaves vary from silver to green,
It grows wild in Texas,
Of the wild it's the king.
Flowers are white, purple, or pink,
But only the purple,
Makes you mind stop and think.
Songs and stories, have come down through time,
Of the purple sage,
In it's inhospitable climes.
If your'e ever in Texas, come check it out,
Cause the purple sage,
Is what Texas is about.
11/15/10 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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