Blessed Father Yacoub

A corner of the planet embracing in its presence
Both Paradise and earth, Man and every essence,
Where saints we cannot number as in garden grown
In this blessed Orient the Maker has sown;
Sannine and North Summit, and then towering Hermon,
A trinity of peaks, each a temple and sermon.
Valleys, coast and mountains, and plains of nodding wheat,
Bear each one a monastery or hermitage retreat.
An army of salvation on a mission is bound,
Conquering high heaven while still on the ground.
Born in Ghazir, not far from Notre Dame,
Fiefdom of princes, rich with many a farm,
Kind, pure, devoted, and filled with God’s fire,
With one great dream came a Franciscan friar,
Loving Christ’s Cross, the Virgin, mankind,
True to sweet Lebanon with its virtues refined;
Loving Jesus Christ who from his cross upraised
Redeemed all men, with God’s image engraved.
The suff’ring the poor, the agéd and despairing,
The orphans, oppressed, and all needing caring,
These he all loved as his kin and his brothers,
Forgetting himself and working for others.
The Cross he did bear in his body and soul,
He shared with the sick the pains of them all,
The family he loved was all human kind,
In class, color, religion, no diff’rence did he find,
Christ wore a crown for the whole human race,
The friar saw in all Jesus’ one face.
“He who loves me must leave all and then must follow me,”
This was the friar’s only choice a lover true to be.
All Lebanon he roved seeking places to found
His schools and his hospitals wherever miseries abound,
For Holy Cross must cover all works that he made,
Give protection and blessing to all ‘neath its shade.
Cloister of Holy Cross, and of Christ the King – what glory!
The Sisters of the Cross of Christ bring triumph to the story!
When I was young this Father Jacques I several times did meet
Sometimes in my bride’s old home and sometimes in the street.
Even then in him I saw a different light,
For on the road to holiness there are obstacles to fight.
Few are those who persevere and kneeling at Christ’s feet
Weep and call on him to answer human need.
Sweet and lovely Magdalen, repenting her past sin,
Saint John the Mystic of the Cross and poet fire within,
And Theresa of Avila and her daughter of Lisieux,
Rebecca with her pains borne without complaint,
Sharbel, Naametallah, Brother Stephan each a saint.
Zeal devoured you Yacoub, Father, branch of the sacred vine,
Nourished at the Holy Table with celestial bread and wine.
Your monumental work gives glory to our nation,
Gives incitement to my Muse and enflames my admiration.
For me pray the Trinity, imploring it I call,
Have pity on me, God, for my sins and childish fall.
Your tale it is of Titans, of heroes and of myth,
But one which is full true, of the life that we all live.
Your blessed name is deep engraved in the heart of every one,
Firm as the cornerstone of work for God begun.
Every Church and every Order has in its own story
A band of keen disciples round some founder of great glory,
It grows up high to heaven like the grain of mustard seed
Midst others like it growing of likewise holy breed.
O mighty spreading branch of the sacred Christian tree,
O joyful rising sapling born ‘ere schism came to be,
Planted by the Twelve as in the Acts we read
Then present in the Councils with all the Faith decreed,
Now giving us today for our happiness and joy
A plethora of saints that our Church can now deploy,
Sharbel, Rafca, Naamatallah and Yacoub latest gem,
Soon humble Brother Stephen and Dweihy joined to them.
Let us boldly take their road and march with courage bright
Like the Wise Men of the East once following the light
Towards that far horizon where history will end
And resound to chants of victory which we shall upward send,
That glorious eternity at that apocalypse
One ever-shining joy that nothing can eclipse.

French by Joseph Matar – Translation: K.J. Mortimer