Saint Philip Howard and His Dog

Faithful old dog, do you recall
The days of frolic and fun?
When walls were trees,
Stone floors were earth and
Low ceilings sky and sun?
When you and my other hounds
Sighted the deer and coursed?

But captive now, your eyes follow me
As I pace and pray, and wait
And wait in this cell for death.

If you so dumb, can be so true,
And trusted to carry words
To him whom my dearest love doth know—

If you, so strong can be so meek,
What else can I do—?
But bear affliction in this world for
Glory with Christ in the next

—but Oh!—

How I long to see you course
And run as you once did run,
Chasing the deer and finding him in the glorious sun! (c) Stephanie A. Mann, 2017

Five years ago (!), the National Catholic Register posted my blog story about St. Philip Howard and his greyhound. Way down in the story was the bit of verse I wrote about the young nobleman and his hound. Please read the rest of the post here, including information about the artists who created the image of Howard in the Tower of London with his dog.

[I'm reading a book right now titled The Dog by Kerstin Ekman, trans. from the Swedish by Linda Schenck and Rochelle Wright. It's about a puppy lost in the wild and the man who brings him into domestication.]

I knew that a poem about the ruins of Walsingham has been attributed to Saint Philip Howard, but recently I noticed this poem about the saints has also been attributed to him:

No eye hath seen what joys the saints obtain,
no ear hath heard what comforts are possessed,
no heart can think in what delight they reign,
nor pen express their happy port of rest,
where pleasure flows and grief is never seen,
where good abounds and ill is banished clean.

Those sacred saints remain in perfect peace
which Christ confessed, and walked in his ways;
they shine in bliss, which now shall never cease,
and to his Name do sing eternal praise.
Before his throne in white they ever stand,
and carry palms of triumph in their hand.

O worthy place, where such a Lord is chief,
O glorious Lord, who princely servants keeps,
O happy Saints, which never taste of grief,
O blessed state when malice ever sleeps.
No-one is here of base or mean degree,
but all are known the Sons of God to be.

Here's a suggested tune for the poem as a hymn. Since our Lovers of Newman just read and discussed a Newman sermon about saints' feast days, and since All Saints Day is fast approaching, it seemed appropriate to end this post with it!

Our Lady of Walsingham, pray for us!

Saint Philip Howard, pray for us!