PHYLLIS McGINLEY'S SAINTS WITHOUT TEARS

THE TEMPTATIONS OF SAINT ANTHONY

Off in the wilderness bare and level, Anthony wrestled with the Devil. Once he'd beaten the Devil down, Anthony'd turn his eyes toward town And leave his hermitage now and then To come to grips with the souls of men.

Afterwards, all the tales agree, Wrestling the Devil seemed to be Quite a relief to Anthony.

LESSON FOR BEGINNERS

Martin of Tours,

When he earned his shilling

Trooping the flags

Of the Roman Guard

Came on a poor

Aching and chilling

Beggar in rags

By the barracks yard.

Blind to his lack, The Guard went riding. But Martin a moment Paused and drew The coat from his back, His sword from hiding, And sabered his raiment Into two.

Now some who muse On the allegory Affect to find It a pious joke; To the beggar what use, For Martin what glory In deed half-kind And part of a cloak?

Still, it has charm

And a point worth seizing.

For all who move

In the mortal sun

Know halfway warm

Is better than freezing

As half a love

Is better than none.

MOTHER OF THE SAINT

Gossiping in Siena's square,

The housewife, Lapa, used to say, "My Catherine has yellow hair

Like the True Princess in the play.

Sure as it's June that follows May, Our Kate was born to be a belle.

The girl's a clever one, and gay, I plan for her to marry well."

Lapa had hopes, would not despair.

"The young ones always fast and pray, A season," Lapa would declare. "This holy nonsense does not stay."

Though all Siena thronged to pay Homage to Catherine in her cell,

Stubbornly Lapa bragged away, "I plan for her to marry well."

They pressed from nations everywhere,

Poet, prince, prelate, common clay, To gape at genius. On the stair,

Their feet were clamorous night and day.

She saw the very Pope obey The summons Catherine scarce could spell

And muttered, "What's a slight delay? I plan for her to marry well."

Still muttered as the world turned gray,

"How pretty her hair was! Who could tell That things would go so far astray?

I planned for her to marry well."

THE THUNDERER

God's angry man, His crotchety

scholar

Was Saint Jerome, The great name-caller Who cared not a dime For the laws of libel And in his spare time Translated the Bible. Quick to disparage All arts but learning, Jerome liked marriage Better than burning But didn't like woman's Painted cheeks; Didn't like Romans, Didn't like Greeks, Hated Pagans For their Pagan ways, Yet doted on Cicero all his days.

A born reformer, cross and gifted,

He scolded mankind

Sterner than Swift did;

Worked to save

The world from the heathen;

Fled to a cave

For peace to breathe in,

Promptly wherewith

For miles around

He filled the air with

Fury and sound.

In a mighty prose,

For almighty ends,

He thrust at his foes,

Quarreled with his friends,

And served his Master

Though with complaint.

He wasn't a plaster sort of saint.

But he swelled men's minds With a Christian leaven. It takes all kinds To make a heaven.

CONVERSATION IN AVILA

Teresa was God's familiar. She often spoke

To Him informally,

As if together they shared some heavenly joke.

Once, watching stormily

Her heart's ambitions wither to odds and ends,

With all to start anew,

She cried, "If this is the way You treat Your friends,

No wonder You have so few!"

There is no perfect record standing by Of God's reply.

SONNET FROM ASSISI

Blind Francis, waiting to welcome Sister Death, Worn though he was by ecstasies and fame, Had heart for tune. With what remained of breath He led his friars in canticles.

Then came

Brother Elias, scowling, to his side, Small-souled Elias, crying by book and candle This was outrageous! Had the monks no pride? Music at deathbeds! Ah, the shame, the scandal!

Elias gave him sermons and advice Instead of song, which simply proves once more What things are sure this side of paradise: Death, taxes, and the counsel of the bore. Though we outwit the tithe, make death our friend, Bores we have with us even to the end.

From The Love Letters of Phyllis McGinley, Viking Press; Copyright 1954 by Phyllis McGinley

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