Dear Name, so hallowed by the course
of human word and deed;
unworthy bearer, I, unsure,
to “Thomas” do accede.
Which, one, did grace a strong-willed son
who – hardy, rash, and brave –
declared “destruction though it be,
I’ll trail thee to the grave!”
And, two, adorned the Lord’s own day
which ends the Octave Week
of Him whose life has killed old death:
whose aid confirms the meek.
But thirdly, did alight on one
“dumb ox”, whose mind held sway;
glimpsed Ipsum Esse Subsistens,
yet humbly ground his hay.
Then, fourth, a tortured heart, at risk:
in death, pray’d for a murd’rous State,
and met True Royalty.
The fifth, it must be said – not strange,
giv’n those, before, thus crowned –
repeats the fourth in love; his blood,
too, drained upon the ground.
A sixth? A wondrous multitude
of mystics, martyrs, men
of India; identical
in praise of God. Amen!
A seventh’s needed to fulfill
the line of this one Saint;
well, what can one man do, dear Name?
In light of these, I faint!
But this great list of poets, priests,
and sinners made anew
is not exhausted yet — so I,
as “Thomas”, join the queue.
Bless God, my fellow baptized twins,
and pray for our dark days
when Summum Bonum is forgot:
that Truth might shine and blaze.