"Ballad of Reading Gaol" - Version I, Part I by Oscar Wilde (in English)

I

He did not wear his scarlet coat,

For blood and wine are red,

And blood and wine were on his hands

When they found him with the dead,

The poor dead woman whom he loved,

And murdered in her bed.

He walked amongst the Trial Men

In a suit of shabby grey;

A cricket cap was on his head,

And his step seemed light and gay;

But I never saw a man who looked

So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked

With such a wistful eye

Upon that little tent of blue

Which prisoners call the sky,

And at every drifting cloud that went

With sails of silver by.

I walked, with other souls in pain,

Within another ring,

And was wondering if the man had done

A great or little thing,

When a voice behind me whispered low,

'That fellows got to swing.'

Dear Christ! the very prison walls

Suddenly seemed to reel,

And the sky above my head became

Like a casque of scorching steel;

And, though I was a soul in pain,

My pain I could not feel.

I only knew what hunted thought

Quickened his step, and why

He looked upon the garish day

With such a wistful eye;

The man had killed the thing he loved

And so he had to die.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves

By each let this be heard,

Some do it with a bitter look,

Some with a flattering word,

The coward does it with a kiss,

The brave man with a sword!

Some kill their love when they are young,

And some when they are old;

Some strangle with the hands of Lust,

Some with the hands of Gold:

The kindest use a knife, because

The dead so soon grow cold.

Some love too little, some too long,

Some sell, and others buy;

Some do the deed with many tears,

And some without a sigh:

For each man kills the thing he loves,

Yet each man does not die.

He does not die a death of shame

On a day of dark disgrace,

Nor have a noose about his neck,

Nor a cloth upon his face,

Nor drop feet foremost through the floor

Into an empty place

He does not sit with silent men

Who watch him night and day;

Who watch him when he tries to weep,

And when he tries to pray;

Who watch him lest himself should rob

The prison of its prey.

He does not wake at dawn to see

Dread figures throng his room,

The shivering Chaplain robed in white,

The Sheriff stern with gloom,

And the Governor all in shiny black,

With the yellow face of Doom.

He does not rise in piteous haste

To put on convict-clothes,

While some coarse-mouthed Doctor gloats, and notes

Each new and nerve-twitched pose,

Fingering a watch whose little ticks

Are like horrible hammer-blows.

He does not know that sickening thirst

That sands one's throat, before

The hangman with his gardener's gloves

Slips through the padded door,

And binds one with three leathern thongs,

That the throat may thirst no more.

He does not bend his head to hear

The Burial Office read,

Nor, while the terror of his soul

Tells him he is not dead,

Cross his own coffin, as he moves

Into the hideous shed.

He does not stare upon the air

Through a little roof of glass;

He does not pray with lips of clay

For his agony to pass;

Nor feel upon his shuddering cheek

The kiss of Caiaphas.

"O Sorriso do Tio Pavel Pleffel" (Chapter IV) by José Thiesen (in Portuguese)

Entramos na sala mais estranha que jamais vi! As paredes eram brancas, com círculos concêntricos negros, dando a impressão de serem túneis conduzindo ao infinito.

Espalhados por toda a sala, uma floresta de equipamentos químicos, tubos, espirais, vasos comunicantes de todos os tamanhos, alguns tão grandes que podiam conter uma pessoa dentro deles e outros, minúsculos. Dentro deles, líquidos de todas as cores, a borbulhar alguns, outros plácidos.

O vapor que saía de alguns vidros pareciam entoar uma espécie de canção, mas havia também toda uma sorte de sons que eu não conseguia saber de onde vinham; eram chiados, estalidos, trinados e uivos numa estranha cadência rítmica.

Mas nada disse se comparava ao chão daquela sala!

Era como se o cosmos houvesse sido pintado nele e pintado com tamanha graça e talento que as estrelas pareciam brilhar no espaço negro.

- Elas estão realmente brilhando, disse o Pavel para mim, como se a ler-me os pensamentos.

Até levei um susto!

- O quê?

- As estrelas realmente possuem brilho, repetiu ele.

- Sim. Deve ser uma tinta estrangeira!

- Tinta? Então pensas que meu tio é assim um menininho que pinta estrelas pelo seu laboratório?

Voltei a mirar o chão, sem entender o que ele queria dizer, quando vi um risco de fogo passar a correr pelas estrelas, lá embaixo, tão longe de mim.

Então eu pude entender o Pleffel: o laboratório não tinha chão e nós estávamos mesmo pisando o universo!

            Fui tomado por um grande medo e agarrei-me a ele: onde estamos? Perguntei.

            - Estamos no laboratório do meu tio Clóvis, embora não o tenha avistado, ainda.

            Então ouvimos uma voz abafada:

            - Estou aqui, sobrinho! Aqui!

            Seguimos a voz através daquela imensa quantidade de vidros, até encontrarmos um homezinho gozado dentro de um vidro enorme!

"The Christmas Spirit" by Will Eisner (in English)

1948.

“Night Coming Out Of A Garden” by Lord Alfred Douglas (in English)

Through the still air of night

Suddenly comes, alone and shrill,

Like the far-off voice of the distant light,

The single piping trill

Of a bird that has caught the scent of the dawn,

And knows that the night is over ;

(She has poured her dews on the velvet lawn

And drenched the long grass and the clover),

And now with her naked white feet

She is silently passing away,

Out of the garden and into the street,

Over the long yellow fields of the wheat,

Till she melts in the arms of the day.

And from the great gates of the East,

With a clang and a brazen blare,

Forth from the rosy wine and the feast

Comes the god with the flame-flaked hair ;

The hoofs of his horses ring

On the golden stones, and the wheels

Of his chariot burn and sing,

And the earth beneath him reels;

And forth with a rush and a rout

His myriad angels run,

And the world is awake with a shout,

' He is coming ! The sun ! The sun ! '

"Ecclesiastes" (Chapter VIII) by Qoheleth (in English)

1 Who is like the wise man,

and who knows the explanation of things?

A man's wisdom illumines his face,

but an impudent look is resented.

2 Observe the precept of the king, and in view of your oath to God, 3 be not hasty to withdraw from the king; do not join in with a base plot, for he does whatever he pleases, 4 because his word is sovereign, and who can say to him, "What are you doing?"

5 "He who keeps the commandment experiences no evil,

and the wise man's heart knows times and judgments;

6 for there is a time and a judgment for everything." - Yet it is a great affliction for man 7 that he is ignorant of what is to come; for who will make known to him how it will be? 8 There is no man who is master of the breath of life so as to retain it, and none has mastery of the day of death. There is no exemption from the struggle, nor are the wicked saved by their wickedness. 9 All these things I considered and I applied my mind to every work that is done under the sun, while one man tyrannizes over another to his hurt.

10 Meanwhile I saw wicked men approach and enter; and as they left the sacred place, they were praised in the city for what they had done. This also is vanity. 11 Because the sentence against evildoers is not promptly executed, therefore the hearts of men are filled with the desire to commit evil – 12 because the sinner does evil a hundred times and survives. Though indeed I know that it shall be well with those who fear God, for their reverence toward him; 13 and that it shall not be well with the wicked man, and he shall not prolong his shadowy days, for his lack of reverence toward God. 14 This is a vanity which occurs on earth: there are just men treated as though they had done evil and wicked men treated as though they had done justly. This, too, I say is vanity.

15 Therefore I commend mirth, because there is nothing good for man under the sun except eating and drinking and mirth: for this is the accompaniment of his toil during the limited days of the life which God gives him under the sun.

16 When I applied my heart to know wisdom and to observe what is done on earth, 17 I recognized that man is unable to find out all God's work that is done under the sun, even though neither by day nor by night do his eyes find rest in sleep. However much man toils in searching, he does not find it out; and even if the wise man says that he knows, he is unable to find it out.

Homily for the Holy Mass in the Chapel of the Domus Sanctae Marthae With a Group of Clergy Sex Abuse Victims by Pope Francis (in English)

Monday, 7 July 2014

The scene where Peter sees Jesus emerge after a terrible interrogation… Peter whose eyes meet the gaze of Jesus and weeps… This scene comes to my mind as I look at you, and think of so many men and women, boys and girls. I feel the gaze of Jesus and I ask for the grace to weep, the grace for the Church to weep and make reparation for her sons and daughters who betrayed their mission, who abused innocent persons. Today, I am very grateful to you for having travelled so far to come here.

For some time now I have felt in my heart deep pain and suffering. So much time hidden, camouflaged with a complicity that cannot be explained until someone realized that Jesus was looking and others the same… and they set about to sustain that gaze.

And those few who began to weep have touched our conscience for this crime and grave sin. This is what causes me distress and pain at the fact that some priests and bishops, by sexually abusing minors, violated their innocence and their own priestly vocation. It is something more than despicable actions. It is like a sacrilegious cult, because these boys and girls had been entrusted to the priestly charism in order to be brought to God. And those people sacrificed them to the idol of their own concupiscence. They profane the very image of God in whose likeness we were created. Childhood, as we all know, young hearts, so open and trusting, have their own way of understanding the mysteries of God’s love and are eager to grow in the faith. Today the heart of the Church looks into the eyes of Jesus in these boys and girls and wants to weep; she asks the grace to weep before the execrable acts of abuse which have left life long scars.

I know that these wounds are a source of deep and often unrelenting emotional and spiritual pain, and even despair. Many of those who have suffered in this way have also sought relief in the path of addiction. Others have experienced difficulties in significant relationships, with parents, spouses and children. Suffering in families has been especially grave, since the damage provoked by abuse affects these vital family relationships.

Some have even had to deal with the terrible tragedy of the death of a loved one by suicide. The deaths of these so beloved children of God weigh upon the heart and my conscience and that of the whole Church. To these families I express my heartfelt love and sorrow. Jesus, tortured and interrogated with passionate hatred, is taken to another place and he looks out. He looks out upon one of his own torturers, the one who denied him, and he makes him weep. Let us implore this grace together with that of making amends.

Sins of clerical sexual abuse against minors have a toxic effect on faith and hope in God. Some of you have held fast to faith, while for others the experience of betrayal and abandonment has led to a weakening of faith in God. Your presence here speaks of the miracle of hope, which prevails against the deepest darkness. Surely it is a sign of God’s mercy that today we have this opportunity to encounter one another, to adore God, to look in one another’s eyes and seek the grace of reconciliation.

Before God and his people I express my sorrow for the sins and grave crimes of clerical sexual abuse committed against you. And I humbly ask forgiveness.

I beg your forgiveness, too, for the sins of omission on the part of Church leaders who did not respond adequately to reports of abuse made by family members, as well as by abuse victims themselves. This led to even greater suffering on the part of those who were abused and it endangered other minors who were at risk.

On the other hand, the courage that you and others have shown by speaking up, by telling the truth, was a service of love, since for us it shed light on a terrible darkness in the life of the Church. There is no place in the Church’s ministry for those who commit these abuses, and I commit myself not to tolerate harm done to a minor by any individual, whether a cleric or not. All bishops must carry out their pastoral ministry with the utmost care in order to help foster the protection of minors, and they will be held accountable.

What Jesus says about those who cause scandal applies to all of us: the millstone and the sea (cf. Mt 18:6).

By the same token we will continue to exercise vigilance in priestly formation. I am counting on the members of the Pontifical Commission for the Protection of Minors, all minors, whatever religion they belong to, they are little flowers which God looks lovingly upon.

I ask this support so as to help me ensure that we develop better policies and procedures in the universal Church for the protection of minors and for the training of church personnel in implementing those policies and procedures. We need to do everything in our power to ensure that these sins have no place in the Church.

Dear brothers and sisters, because we are all members of God’s family, we are called to live lives shaped by mercy. The Lord Jesus, our Savior, is the supreme example of this; though innocent, he took our sins upon himself on the cross. To be reconciled is the very essence of our shared identity as followers of Jesus Christ. By turning back to him, accompanied by our most holy Mother, who stood sorrowing at the foot of the cross, let us seek the grace of reconciliation with the entire people of God. The loving intercession of Our Lady of Tender Mercy is an unfailing source of help in the process of our healing.

You and all those who were abused by clergy are loved by God. I pray that the remnants of the darkness which touched you may be healed by the embrace of the Child Jesus and that the harm which was done to you will give way to renewed faith and joy.

I am grateful for this meeting. And please pray for me, so that the eyes of my heart will always clearly see the path of merciful love, and that God will grant me the courage to persevere on this path for the good of all children and young people. Jesus comes forth from an unjust trial, from a cruel interrogation and he looks in the eyes of Peter, and Peter weeps. We ask that he look at us and that we allow ourselves to be looked upon and to weep and that he give us the grace to be ashamed, so that, like Peter, forty days later, we can reply: “You know that I love you”; and hear him say: “go back and feed my sheep” – and I would add – “let no wolf enter the sheepfold”.

Sonnet XIII by William Shakespeare (in English)

O! that you were your self; but, love, you are

No longer yours, than you your self here live:

Against this coming end you should prepare,

And your sweet semblance to some other give:

So should that beauty which you hold in lease

Find no determination; then you were

Yourself again, after yourself's decease,

When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.

Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,

Which husbandry in honour might uphold,

Against the stormy gusts of winter's day

And barren rage of death's eternal cold?

   O! none but unthrifts. Dear my love, you know,

   You had a father: let your son say so.