Poems of Marie

A couple years ago I found a very strange old book in the library of Santa Clara University.  I tried to learn about it online, but all I found was one other copy of it for sale.  I bought that copy.  The book is called Poems of Marie, by Harriet M. Skidmore, and it is a collection of poems written by a woman in San Francisco.  The book was published in 1877, and contains a great many good Catholic poems.  It is apparently compiled from poems published in various Catholic magazines, and has an introduction by Archbishop Joseph Alemany of San Francisco.  The poems are quite good for their spiritual value, their poetic quality varies from amateurish to quite good, and I find them to be a fascinating look into a lost world, and in some sense a lost kind of holiness.  I know nothing about Harriet M. Skidmore, but these poems give me a look at a kind of faith and simple love of the Church which is rare today.  Anyway, I thought I would start posting some selected poems from the book, probably on a daily basis, given that they are almost certainly in the public domain by now.  I’ll start with one which I think is particularly timeless.

Sursum Corda

By Harriet M. Skidmore

Lift thy heart, O sordid schemer!

Lift thy heart, thou idle dreamer!

Turn from worldly plans perplexing,

Turn from visions vain and vexing;

Leave the fast-corroding treasures,

Leave the false and fleeting pleasures.

From the world’s delusive glitter,

And its Dead Sea fruitage bitter;

From its pageant-phantoms gliding,

From its glories ne’er abiding,

Shifting scene and baseless vision,

False mirage of joys Elysian:

            Sursum corda.

 

From its wild discordant voices,

Grief that wails, while mirth rejoices;

Festal songs with dirges blending,

Glees in mournful cadence ending;

Jarring notes, that, born in sweetness,

Die in harshest incompleteness;

From the silv’ry tones that call thee,

From the strains that would enthrall thee,

Trumpet-blast of fame and glory,

Vain ambitions mocking story;

Syren song that sweetly urgeth

Where destruction’s torent surgeth:

           Sursum corda.

 

Upward to the stores that fail not,

Upward to the dreams that pale not;

Sacred schemes, sweet rest bestowing,

Dreams with heaven’s own brightness glowing;

Earnest toil for fadeless treasures,

Blissful search for purest pleasures;

Thought sublime, and aim supernal,

Hero-strife for fame eternal:–

Turn to these thy life’s endeavor,

Look not downward, linger never–

E’en beyond the shining portal,

Upward to the joys immortal:

            Sursum corda.

 

List the echo, softly ringing,

Of the far-off seraph singing!

Bid those wondrous tones be clearer,

Up! that thou may’st listen nearer,

For no minor wail of sadness

Mars that choral strain of gladness;

In its notes no discord blending,

Checks the tale of bliss unending.

To that song of deathless sweetness,

Rife with full and glad completeness;

To that paean tone of glory–

Fame’s eternal triumph-story:

           Sursum corda.