Prologue

Masters and gentlemen, the time is here,

That we, now better than a hundred year.

Have flourished from that root which Douay gave.

Nourished by him, who, all to serve and save

His England, planted there so long ago;

Grown strong in Rheims — that sapling, fed below

By lives of men laid gladly down, above

Made fair by God His grace and Mary's love.

So, root and stem and flower, here Ushaw stands.

Planted in one, spread wide in many lands.

We then, on this our day (which pray God bless!)

Day of grave mirth and merry seriousness.

Present before your eyes, as best we may.

As in a glass, a tale of yesterday.

Of times when England, careless of her peace,

Quick to pick up a quarrel, slow to cease.

Like some self-maddened woman, swoU'n with pride.

Dashed from her lap her sons, and from her side

Those that but sought to serve her — yea, denied

Her own and very life that God had given

To nourish her on earth and guide her steps to heaven.

Ah! sad the days and times, yet glorious too;

For by that act that showed herself untrue

And spilt such noble blood, she sowed the seed

Of souls unborn to save her life indeed.

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And such was he whose tale is told to-day,

Our hero-comrade, born and bred, they say,

In this north country — then, 'mid Oxford's towers.

Nourished his youth and spent his studious hours.

Saw visions, as old Joel speaks, dreamed dreams,

Till, won by grace, left all, and in dear Rheims,

Received his heart's desire (nor recked the cost) —

The crown of great Melchisedech which Oxford lost.

Thus then, for thirteen years, through weal and woe.

Through good repute and evil did he go,

In cot and castle, fared by field and flood.

To pour the fragrance of his Saviour's blood,

To plead the sacrifice of Christ our Lord,

And spread about the Gospel of His Word.

Then struck the hour, when, like his Lord, betrayed To sinners' hands, he, like his Lord, was made A very lamb of God; tormented sore, Judged by injustice, pris'n and chains he bore; Till, looking upwards to his heavenly crown. Passing from death, his holy Hfe laid down. And, 'mid the thrones where scar-decked martyrs shine. He reigns with Laurence and with Valentine.

This then our theme, pursued as best we may: And you, my lords and gentlemen, we pray To hear and see with patience as we show This tale of holy joy and holier woe: Follow with us the story of his strife, His fears, his living death, his deathless life. We do our best. Hear you with patience then. And so God tj) bless us always, one and all. Amen.