The day of his execution was also his wedding day as he married Grace Gifford, who had converted to Catholicism in April that year: they had planned an Easter wedding.
I see his face in every flower;
The thunder and the singing of the birds
Are but his voice-and carven by his power
Rocks are his written words.
All pathways by his feet are worn,
His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea,
His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn,
His cross is every tree.
He was indeed related to Saint Oliver Plunkett, the martyred Archbishop of Armagh.
The main reason I post on him today, may he rest in the Peace of Christ, is because of this lovely Christ-centered poem:
I see his blood upon the rose
And in the stars the glory of his eyes,
His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.
I see his blood upon the rose
And in the stars the glory of his eyes,
His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.
I see his face in every flower;
The thunder and the singing of the birds
Are but his voice-and carven by his power
Rocks are his written words.
All pathways by his feet are worn,
His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea,
His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn,
His cross is every tree.
Amen.
You may find more of his poetry here.
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