The Burial of the Alleluia: A Poem by a monk from San Benedetto in Monte, Norcia, Italy

 

The following poem was written by a monk of the Monastery of San Benedetto in Monte, Norcia, Italy.  Today is Septuagesima Sunday, the beginning of the “porch of Lent”.  This Sunday marks the “burial of the Alleluia”, when the Alleluia of the Mass is replaced by the Tract.  The very word Alleluia is also no longer heard in the chanting of the Office, until the Easter Vigil.  This poem is a wonderful gift for each of us who love the Traditional Mass to deepen our own faith as we prepare for Lent.

From every mountain, hill and vale

Let Alleluia ring!

And may each woman, man and child

This Alleluia sing!

Alas! But little time is left

With Alleluia near;

We from thee soon shall have to part,

Oh, Alleluia dear!

Until Septuagesima

Will Alleluia last;

From that grave moment on we must

From Alleluia fast.

Then, in woe we shall, bereft

Of Alleluia mourn,

And clad with deepest sorrow wail,

From Alleluia torn.

Then will our drooping eyes, deprived

Of Alleluia weep,

And we’ll in penance far away

From Alleluia keep.

Then will our days be difficult,

When Alleluia flees,

For better heaven’s realm the heart

With Alleluia sees.

In one sole manner can we with

No Alleluia cope,

If on this journey we go forth

In Alleluia’s hope.

Thus, we must always mindful be,

With Alleluia ceased,

That on that Day of days we shall

With Alleluia feast.

On that most sacred Day our mouths

Will Alleluia fill,

And joy our hearts, for nothing will

Our Alleluia kill.

Then jubilation will come forth

In Alleluia’s sounds,

And merrily repeat itself

In Alleluia rounds.

Then filled our every limb shall be

With Alleluia’s might,

And on all faces mirth shall shine

With Alleluia bright.

Then nothing will our sturdy hearts

With Alleluia fear,

When finally, after the race

We Alleluia hear.

Then, rapt in bliss, we’ll dwell secure

In Alleluia’s spell,

And every tongue from East to West

Will Alleluia tell.

Then shall the music of the spheres

With Alleluia rhyme,

And heaven will its rhythm move

To Alleluia’s time.

For then, O Christ, the mournful tomb

Will Alleluia burst,

And Thou, Triumphant Victor, shall

Sing Alleluia first!

But, for now, until we hear

That Alleluia bell,

We must with mournful joy thee bid

Fare, Alleluia, well!

Posted by Father Richard Gennaro Cipolla