St Philip Neri - Hymns in honour of

HYMNS AND POEMS IN HONOUR OF ST PHILIP

Ad Vesperas

Frequentat antra rupium
Domosque subterraneas,
Ubi prisca gens fidelium
Quievit in Deo suo,-

Ubi martyrum vis ignea
Adhuc in ossibus viget,-
Amoris inde spiritum
Philippus hausurus sibi.

Nec mortuorum supplicem
Fefellit intercessio,
Neque juvenili pectori
Non rite respondet Deus.

Nam lucido tandem globo,
Festis diebus in suis,
Clientis in sinum memor
Illabitur Paraclitus.

Et tecta dum mortalia
Vehemens subit Divinitas,
Confringit ardescens latus,
Et cordium compaginem.

Exinde, tanto debile
Jam corpus impar muneri,
Et martyr et miraculum
Amoris elanguet rogo.

Aeterna laus et gloria
Patri sit atque Filio,
Et igneis Paracliti
Virtutibus per saecula. Amen.

(Cardinal Newman)

Ad Laudes

Pompa relicta saeculi,
Phillipus antra martryum
Noctu celebrat et die,
Pro Christo anhelans emori.

Frustra! cruentans ungula
Clavique non manent tibi,
Sed martryri genus novum
Nova emeretur charitas.

En ipse tortoris vices
Almus subit Paraclitus,
Et gestientis victimae
Transverberat praecordia.

O cor beatum vulnere,
Plaga aestuans septemplici,
Te dulcis Hospes occupat
Mirisque rimatur modis.

O cor, Joannis aemule!
Jesu sacrum cor exprimens!
Te concremator Spiritus
Nobis in exemplum edidit.

Te deprecamur supplices,
Proles et haeredes tui,
Nos in figuram da patris
Amoris esse martyres.

Aeterna laus et gloria
Patri sit atque Filio,
Et igneis Paracliti
Virtutibus per saecula. Amen.

(Cardinal Newman)

Saint Philip in His Mission.

In the far North our lot is cast,
Where faithful hearts are few;
Still are we Philip’s children dear,
And Peter’s soldiers true.

Founder and Sire! to mighty Rome,
Beneath St. Peter's shade,
Thy early vow of loyal love
And ministry was paid.

The solemn porch and portal high
Of Peter was thy home;
The world’s Apostle he, and thou
Apostle of his Rome.

And first in the old Catacombs,
In galleries long and deep,
Where martyr Popes had ruled the flock,
And slept their glorious sleep,

There didst thou pass the nights in prayer,
Until at length there came,
Down on thy breast, new lit for thee,
The Pentecostal flame;-

Then, in that heart-consuming love,
Didst walk the city wide,
And lure the noble and the young
From Babel’s pomp and pride;

And gathering them within thy cell,
Unveil the lustre bright
And beauty of thy inner soul,
And gain them by the sight.

And thus to Rome, for Peter's faith
Far known, thou didst impart
The lessons of the hidden life,
And discipline of heart.

And as the Apostle, on the hill
Facing the Imperial Town,
First gazed upon his fair domain,
Then on the cross lay down,

So thou, from out the streets of Rome
Didst turn thy failing eye
Unto that mount of martyrdom,*
Take leave of it, and die.

[* On the day of his death, Philip, "at the beginning of his Mass, remained for some time looking fixedly at the hill of St. Onofrio, which was visible from the chapel, just as if he saw some great vision. On coming to the Gloria in Excelsis, he began to sing, which was a very unusual thing for him, and he sang the whole of it with the greatest joy and devotion," &c. - Bacci's Life.]

(Cardinal Newman, 1850)

[And when he died, he did but go
In other lands to dwell,
A traveller now, who in his life
Ne’er left that one bare cell.

He travelled, and he travelled on,
He crossed the swelling sea,
He sought our island’s very heart,
And here at length is he.

Glory to God, who framed a Saint,
So beautiful and sweet;
Who brought him from St. Peter’s side
And placed us at his feet.]

St. Philip in Himself (or, The Regulars and Saint Philip).

The holy monks, concealed from men,
In midnight choir or studious cell,
In sultry field or wintry glen,
The holy monks, I love them well.

The Friars too, the zealous band
Of Francis and of Dominic,
They gather, and they take their stand
Where foes are fierce, or souls are sick.

And then the unwearied Company,
Which bears the name of sacred might,
The Knights of Jesus, they defy
The fiend, full eager for the fight.

Yet there is one I more affect
Than Jesuit, Hermit, Monk, or Friar
‘Tis an old man of sweet aspect,
I love him more, I more admire.

I know him by his head of snow,
His ready smile, his keen full eye
His words that kindle as they flow,
Save he be rapt in ecstasy.

He lifts his hands, there issues forth
A fragrance virginal and rare.
And now lie ventures to our North,
Where hearts are frozen as the air.

He comes, by grace of his address,
By the sweet music of his face,
And his low tones of tenderness,
To melt a noble stubborn race.

O sainted Philip, Father dear,
Look on thy little ones, that we
Thy loveliness may copy here,
And in the eternal Kingdom see.

(Cardinal Newman, 1850)

St. Philip in His God

Philip, on thee the glowing ray
Of heaven came down upon thy prayer,
To melt thy heart, and burn away
All that of earthly dross was there.

Thy soul became as purest glass,
Through which the Brightness Increate
In undimm'd majesty might pass,
Transparent and illuminate.

And so, on Philip when we gaze,
We see the image of his Lord;
The Saint dissolves amid the blaze
Which circles round the living Word.

The Meek, the Wise, none else is here,
Dispensing light to men below;
His awful accents fill the ear,
Now keen as fire, now soft as snow.

As snow, those inward pleadings fall,
As soft, as bright, as pure, as cool,
With gentle weight and gradual,
And sink into the feverish soul.

The Sinless One, He comes to seek,
The dreary heart, the spirit lone,
Tender of natures proud or weak,
Not less than if they were His own.

He takes and scans the sinner o'er,
Handling His scholars one by one,
Weighing what they can bear, before
He gives the penance to be done.

Jesu, to Philip's sons reveal
That gentlest wisdom from above,
To spread compassion o'er their zeal,
And mingle patience with their love.

(Cardinal Newman, 1850)

Saint Philip in His School.

This is the Saint of gentleness and kindness,
Cheerful in penance, and in precept winning:
Patiently healing of their pride and blindness,
Souls that are sinning.

This is the Saint, who, when the world allures us,
Cries her false wares, and opes her magic coffers,
Points to a better city, and secures us
With richer offers.

Love is his bond, he knows no other fetter,
Asks not our all, but takes whate'er we spare him,
Willing to draw us on from good to better,
As we can bear him.

When he comes near to teach us and to bless us,
Prayer is so sweet, that hours are but a minute;
Mirth is so pure, though freely it possess us,
Sin is not in it.

Thus he conducts, by holy paths and pleasant,
Innocent souls, an sinful souls forgiven,
Towards the bright palace, where our God is present,
Throned in high heaven.

(Cardinal Newman, 1857)

St. Philip in His Disciples

I ask not for fortune, for silken attire,
For servants to throng me, and crowds to admire;
I ask not for power, or for name or success,
These do not content me, these never can bless.

Let the world flaunt her glories! each glittering prize,
Though tempting to others, is naught in my eyes.
A child of St. Philip, my master and guide,
I would live as he lived, and would die as he died.

Why should I be sadden'd, though friendless I be?
For who in his youth was as lonely as he?
If spited and mock'd, so was he, when he cried
To his God on the cross to stand by his side.

If scanty my fare, yet how was he fed?
On olives and herbs and a small roll of bread.
Are my joints and bones sore with aches and with pains?
Philip scourged his young flesh with fine iron chains.

A closet his home, where he, year after year,
Bore heat or cold greater than heat or cold here;
A rope stretch'd across it, and o'er it he spread
His small stock of clothes; and the floor was his bed.

One lodging besides; God's temple he chose,
And he slept in its porch his few hours of repose;
Or studied by light which the altar-lamp gave,
Or knelt at the Martyr's victorious grave.

I'm ashamed of myself, of my tears and my tongue,
So easily fretted, so often unstrung;
Mad at trifles, to which a chance moment gives birth,
Complaining of heaven, and complaining of earth.

So now, with his help, no cross will I fear,
But will linger resign'd through my pilgrimage here.
A child of St. Philip, my master and guide,
I will live as he lived, and will die as he died.

(Cardinal Newman, 1857)

To our Holy Father Saint Philip.

Dear Father Philip! holy Sire!
We are poor sons of thine,
Thy last and least, - then to our prayers
A father’s ear incline.

We wandered weeping heretofore
For many a long, long day;
But thou hast taught us how to mourn
In thy more tender way;

To mourn that God of all His sons
So little loved should be;
To mourn that ‘mid the world’s cold hearts
None were more cold than we;

To mourn, and yet to joy and love,
With overflowing heart,
And in thy school of Christian mirth
To bear our humble part.

‘Mid strife and change, cold hearts and tongues,
How much we owe to thee!
This sunny service! who could dream
Earth had such liberty?

Look at the crowds of this sweet land,
Dear Father Philip! see
How shepherdless they wander on,
How lone, how hopelessly!

O, make us sons of thine indeed,
Fill us with thy true mirth,
Thy strength of prayer, thy might of love,
To change these hearts of earth.

Dear Father Philip! give to us
Thy manners gay and free,
Thy patient trust, thy plaint of prayer,
Thy deep simplicity.

(Father Faber)

Saint Philip’s Penitents.

Sweet Saint Philip! thou hast won us,
Though our hearts were hard as stone;
Sin had once well-nigh undone us,
Now we live for God alone.
Help in Mary! Joy in Jesus!
Sin and self no more shall please us!
We are Philip’s gift to God.

Sweet Saint Philip! we are weeping
Not for sorrow, but for glee;
Bless thy converts bravely keeping
To the bargain made with thee!
Help in Mary! &c.

Sweet Saint Philip! old friends want us
To be with them as before;
And old times, old habits haunt us,
Old temptations press us sore.
Help in Mary! &c.

Sweet Saint Philip! do not fear us!
Get us firmness, get us grace;
Only thou, dear Saint! be near us
We shall safely run the race!
Help in Mary! &c.

Sweet Saint Philip! make us wary;
Sin and Death are all around;
Bring us Jesus! bring us Mary!
We shall conquer and be crowned !
Help in Mary &c.

Sweet Saint Philip! keep us humble,
Make us pure as thou wert pure;
Strongest purposes will crumble,
If we boast and make too sure.
Help in Mary! &c.

Sweet Saint Philip! come and ease us
Of the weary load we bear;
Put us in the Heart of Jesus,
Dearest Saint! and leave us there.
Help in Mary! &c.

(Father Faber)

Saint Philip’s Picture.

Saint Philip! I have never known
A Saint as I know thee;
For none have made their wills and ways
So plain for men to see.
I live with. thee; and in my toil
All day thou hast thy part;
And then I come at night to learn
Thy picture off by heart.

O, what a prayer thy picture is!
Was Jesus like to thee?
Whence hast thou caught that lovely look
That preaches so to me?
Sermon and prayer thy picture is,
And music to the eye;
Song to the soul, a song that sings
Of whitest purity!

Philip! strange missioner thou art,
Biding so still at home,
Content if with the evening star
Souls to thy nets will come!
If ever spell could make hard work
Profit and pastime be,
That spell is in thy coaxing ways,
That magic is in thee.

John’s love of Mary thou hast got;
Thy house is Mary’s home;
And then thou hast Paul’s love of souls,
With Peter’s love of Rome.
Thy heart, that was so large and strong,
It could not quiet bide!
O, was it not like His that beats
Within a wounded Side?

Saint of the overworked and poor!
Saint of the sad and gay!
Jesus and Mary be with those
Who keep to thy true way!
O, bless us, Philip! Saint most dear!
Thine Oratory bless;
And gain for those who seek thee there
The gift of holiness.

(Father Faber)

Saint Philip’s Charity.

All ye who hove the ways of sin,
Come to St. Philip’s feet, and learn
The baits that Jesus hath to win
His truant children to return.
All praise and thanks to Jesus be
For sweet St. Philip’s charity!

That Saint can do such things for you
As your poor hearts would never dream,
For he can make the false world true,
And penance life’s best pleasure seem.
All praise, &c.

His words, like gentlest dews, distil;
His face is calm as summer’s eve;
His look can tame the wildest will,
And make the stoutest heart to grieve.
All praise, &c.

He smiles; and evil habit fails
To bind its victim as before;
Old sins drop off the soul like scales,
Old wounds are healed, and leave no sore,
All praise, &c.

His hand, with virgin fragrance fraught,
The heart with painless pressure strains,
And with one touch, all evil thought,
.All worldly longing from it drains.
All praise, &c.

Come, sinners! ye need not forego
Your portion of light-hearted mirth;
He came unthought-of roads to show,
And plant a Paradise on earth,
All praise, &c.

(Father Faber)

Pippo Buono.

Dear little Saint, I love to think
Of all thou used to be;
It seems to make the things of God
Much easier to me.

Thy picture I have often seen,
Its charm I long have known;
I feel that I belong to thee,
May claim thee for my own.

Thou led’st the life thy comrades led,
Sharing their work and play,
And had’st thy part in all they did,
In thine own perfect way.

Thou did’st it all with wondrous grace,
With simple holy joy
A very Saint, yet all the while
Thou wert a very boy.

Men called thee Good, it was the name
That best described thy grace,
Thy gift of prayer, thy merry smile,
Thy holy winning ways.

A simple name, yet better far
Than titles, rank, or fame
For God Himself, the Holy One,
Doth bear that very name.

Yet ‘tis a name that I as well
Could merit if I would;
O dear Saint Philip, make me pure,
And good as thou wert Good.

O teach me then, dear little Saint,
To form myself on thee,
Who wert the pattern and the type
Of all a child should be.

St. Philip in Himself, or, The Regulars and Saint Philip.