My Hagiography Poem by James Hart

St. Benedict, I implore you

You left Rome,
Not a home
For the lone

Searcher after God.
What bit of sod
Will be a pod

For a hermit
Who wants all of it
Not just a bit of it?

His monasteries were quite a hit!
After the Rule he laid down
Throughout the town

To take away their frown
And replace it with a crown
From Lauds to None.



St. Bartholomew, I implore you

You saw him
You heard him
You followed him

You preached about him
You travelled for him
You were crucified like him

You the patron Saint
You of neurological conditions
You my Saint, our MS Saint.








The blessed John Henry Newman, I implore you

Soon to become a Saint.
Once anti-RC
You converted to the RCC

A Birmingham priest
A you became a Cardinal
Wrote theology and hymns

A kindly light led you
From Rome to Birmingham
And back again and again

Praise to the Holiest in the height,
And in the depth be praise;
In all His words most wonderful,
Most sure in all His ways.