Saint Agnes Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was,
The coach for all his sweaters was acold;
The team limped weakly through the frozen grass,
And bundled were the fans, a woolly fold.
Numb were the passer’s fingers as his hold
Embraced the ball and flung a mighty pass.
It flew like cannon from a warship old,
Seemed taking flight for heaven, without a death,
To the alert receiver, while his prayer he saith.
”Avery Cardinal Dulles, S.J.
January 2008
Artwork by Jan Breughel the Younger is in the Public Domain. Image cropped.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
An Important Civics Lesson, Well Taught
The permanent exhibit in the rotunda of the National Archives in Washington, D.C., includes original copies of…
Tyler Robinson and the Violence of Porn
Multiple media outlets have reported that Tyler Robinson, the alleged murderer of conservative activist Charlie Kirk, was…
Faith Returns to the Public Square
Pastors, pundits, and politicians gathered in Phoenix last Sunday to remember Charlie Kirk. Seventy thousand people filled…
