Let In Your Child Tonight

For the last few nights the UK has been battered by rain and gales and in some Northern parts even violent storms.

It certainly makes this great Advent poem by Kathleen Raine vivid and easy to relate to in a powerfully visceral way. Thankfully there is no snow as yet here !

The video is a bonus that found me by sweet serendipity...

It is from America Editor in Chief Drew Christiansen, S.J., and he adds his own reflection on Raine's poem "Northumbrian Sequence IV" 

He mentions that the complete sequence of the poem is on the America website but I've put it below the video to save you the bother..

(The video was produced in 2010)

Let in the wind,

Let in the rain,

Let in the moors tonight,

The storm beats on my window-pane,

Night stands at my bed-foot,

Let in the fear,

Let in the pain,

Let in the trees that toss and groan,

Let in the north tonight.

Let in the nameless formless power

That beats upon my door,

Let in the ice, let in the snow,

The banshee howling on the moor,

The bracken-bus on the bleak hillside,

Let in the dead tonight.

The whistling ghost behind the dyke,

The dead that rot in mire,

Let in the thronging ancestors

The unfulfilled desire,

Let in the wraith of the dead earl,

Let in the dead tonight.

Let in the cold,

Let in the wet,

Let in the loneliness,

Let in the quick,

Let in the dead,

Let in the unpeopled skies.

Oh how can virgin fingers weave

A covering for the void,

How can my fearful heart conceive

Gigantic solitude?

How can a house so small contain

A company so great?

Let in the dark,

Let in the dead,

Let in your love tonight.

Let in the snow that numbs the grave,

Let in the acorn-tree,

The mountain stream and mountain stone,

Let in the bitter sea.

Fearful is my virgin heart

And frail my virgin form,

And must I then take pity on

The raging of the storm

That rose up from the great abyss

Before the earth was made,

That pours the stars in cataracts

And shakes this violent world?

Let in the fire,

Let in the power,

Let in the invading light.

Gentle must my fingers be

And pitiful my heart

Since I must bind in human form

A living power so great,

A living impulse great and wild

That cries about my house

With all the violence of desire

Desiring this my peace.

Pitiful my heart must hold

The lonely stars at rest,

Have pity on the raven’s cry,

The torrent and the eagle’s wing,

The icy water of the tarn,

And on the biting blast.

Let in the wound,

Let in the pain,

Let in your child tonight.