A Poem, a Prayer, and a Passage, #1

“Evermore Give Us This Bread”; a 13th-century prayer; and Mother Mectilde on frequent Communion

A Poem: “Evermore Give Us This Bread”

by Peter Kwasniewski

O Lord, I am the poorest host
That ever welcomed guest,
But You who welcome me the most
Are richer than the rest.

To You, who call Yourself the Host,
The Victim, and the Friend,
I offer only one poor boast—
My power there must end.

The boast is this: I never came
To altar rail at Mass
Except to catch the living Flame
Before my time should pass.

I never cared what people thought,
Religious or profane;
No plaudits from the pews were sought,
No critics caused me pain.

O Lord, Your summons was enough
To make me come to You,
And if, at times, the road was rough,
Your angels pulled me through.

Unless a man partake this bread,
No life he gains within;
Unless he join the banquet’s Head,
The meal he eats is sin.

These truths I love, as You I love,
For You are Truth made flesh,
The spirit’s staple food, above
All dainties that refresh.

Until the host-commanding Lord
Has conquered all of me,
The Word that is God’s two-edged sword
Will wound to cut me free.

He’ll carve a room within my heart
To welcome Him as king,
He’ll lead me to a place apart
Where heavenly voices sing.

He’ll build a throne inside my mind
Upon which He can rest;
The pillars of His hall will find
Foundation in my breast.

The inner castle He will build
Until it looks like Him,
A glorious temple wholly filled
With beauty to its brim.

And this is why I do not fret
To be so poor a host:
Your mercy and Your truth have met,
Have seized this lowly post,

Have made it such a bower of bliss
That frosty scruples cease,
And there, within the chamber, kiss
God’s righteousness and peace.

A Prayer: “At the Elevation of the Body of Christ” (13th cent.)