Today is the liturgical memorial of St. John of the Cross, an “ideal saint” for the Advent season of waiting for the longed-for Messiah. For one like me, who at times, prefers the “dark night” rather than the glare of the noonday sun, St. John of the Cross serves as a teacher: how much can one learn from “dark nights” that is, from suffering, from the purifying fire of life’s ordeals!
I hope you enjoy this poem, the first of a five-part poem of St. John of the Cross
Stanzas Of The Soul
1. One dark night,
fired with love's urgent longings
- ah, the sheer grace! - I went out unseen,
my house being now all stilled.
2. In darkness, and secure,
by the secret ladder, disguised,
- ah, the sheer grace! - in darkness and concealment,
my house being now all stilled.
3. On that glad night,
in secret, for no one saw me,
nor did I look at anything,
with no other light or guide
than the one that burned in my heart.
4. This guided me
more surely than the light of noon
to where he was awaiting me
- him I knew so well -
there in a place where no one appeared.
5. O guiding night!
O night more lovely than the dawn!
O night that has united
the Lover with his beloved,
transforming the beloved in her Lover.
6. Upon my flowering breast
which I kept wholly for him alone,
there he lay sleeping,
and I caressing him
there in a breeze from the fanning cedars.
7. When the breeze blew from the turret,
as I parted his hair,
it wounded my neck
with its gentle hand,
suspending all my senses.
8. I abandoned and forgot myself,
laying my face on my Beloved;
all things ceased; I went out from myself,
leaving my cares
forgotten among the lilies.
