Little Office of S. Norbert

O blessed Saint! While yet unborn,

A voice Divine decreed for thee;

"Thou'lt bear, through many a life-long storm,

The priest's and bishop's dignity".

Yet worldly glory wooed thy heart,

And thou, of noble race, didst turn

Away from thine eternal part

To seek the fair, false lights that burn

In royal halls of earth. But lo!

These halls are trembling 'neath the power

Of Him Who stoops to thee, to show

Thou shalt be His. Alas! That hour

Thou'rt faltering still. The voice of fame,

Its flattery, in thine ear is sweet.

Again thy God thy heart must claim

And sweetly stay thy wand'ring feet.

May we, like thee, shun worldly praise,

In worldly paths no longer roam,

But tread the peaceful, heavenward ways,

Till angels come to lead us home.

With deep affliction thou hast mourned

The failings of thy former life;

Thy robes of princely state are spurned;

The court, its pomps, its gilded strife,

Are thine no more, for higher love

Has fortified thy glowing heart,

And, barefoot, through the snow thou'lt move

As one all heedless of the smart

Of scorn and insult. Then with fasts,

With scourges, and with iron chain,

Thou'lt seek to expiate the past,

And heal, with care, the former pain

Thy pride inflicted. May we now

Rich fruit of penance daily bear,

And in the hour of death do thou

Obtain our pardon by thy prayer.

In token of her constant love

The glorious Queen of Heaven above

Clothes thee in white, that thou may'st be

A witness to her purity.

S. Austin gives his hallowed Rule

To train thy followers in that school

Of holy life. And robed in light,

The Saviour meets the raptured sight,

To show, by seven-fold rays, the place

Where Norbert's band – a chosen race,

Shall dwell, as oft by Heaven foretold,

In lone Prémontré's blessed fold.

S. Norbert, who the world disdained,

Pray that we may, with hearts unstained,

Walk in the light of purity,

And thus the heavenly nuptials see.

In cloistered hearts thou didst awake

The love of Him, Who for our sake

Dwells on our altars, closely veiled.

When Tanchelin's profane touch assailed

That sacred Mystery, thou didst raise

Thy trumpet voice. And with amaze

The Gallic nation stood to hear

Thy matchless accents, rich and clear;

S. Bernard, too, proclaiming thee

A lute of heavenly melody.

Angels of peace, at thy command

Fierce discord vanished from the land,

And hearts by thee to Jesus given

Brought forth abundant fruit for Heaven.

When comes, at last, the harvest hour,

Oh! garner us, with saintly power.

Filled with Faith's spirit, miracles were thine,

And thy skilled lips interpreted each sign

Of heavenly dealings. Thou didst banish far

The phantoms of hell's spiritual war.

Nor from the nauseous insect didst thou shrink

But calmly dared the chalice still to drink.

Diseases fled thy touch; the famished came

And all were soothed by thee in Jesus' name.

More wondrous still, a wolf thou didst compel

To guard the trembling sheep, and guard them well.

Thy prophecies resounded loudly. Then

The demon fled the tortured souls of men

At thy desire. And when the raging flood

Bore all away, at thy command they stood

Beside thee, saved. Thou, too, didst call to life

Three breathless forms that sank in mortal strife.

To us, thy clients, teach the heavenly art

To live and yet to die to evil's part.

Great Pastor! Model of thy flock! Thy mind,

Fixed on eternal interests, entwined

Round God's unchanging Church thy constant care;

Nor didst thou then her reckless plunderers spare.

They struck thee with the sword and with the tongue;

They exiled thee; vainly their darts were flung

Around thy tranquil soul. Thy zeal untamed,

New merits and new recompenses claimed.

Pray for us now that trials ne'er may be,

Triumphant o'er our faith and constancy;

Rather that heavenly pity, bending down,

May add new rays of glory to our crown.

Death summons thee, but do not fear,

The voice of Jesus soundeth near;

"Come, my beloved, take thy rest,

Come, for thou shalt be crowned and blessed".

Thy combat o'er, thy work is done.

The arms of Mary and her Son

Are clasped around thee. Thou dost bear

The olive and the lily fair,

And thus, beyond the distant star,

Thou'rt borne to heavenly courts afar,

Oh! may we win that peaceful rest,

We pray, who in thy joy are blest.