The Workers’ Song

Come all of you workers
Who toil night and day
By hand and by brain
To earn your pay
Who for centuries long past
For no more than your bread
Have bled for your countries
And counted your dead

In the factories and mills,
In the shipyards and mines
We’ve often been told
To keep up with the times
For our skills are not needed,
They’ve streamlined the job
And with sliderule and stopwatch
Our pride they have robbed

But when the sky darkens
And the prospect is war
Who’s given a gun
And then pushed to the fore
And expected to die
For the land of our birth
When we’ve never owned
One handful of earth?

We’re the first ones to starve
The first ones to die
The first ones in line
For that pie-in-the-sky
And always the last
When the cream is shared out
For the worker is working
When the fat cat’s about

All of these things
The worker has done
From tilling the fields
To carrying the gun
We’ve been yoked to the plough
Since time first began
And always expected
To carry the can

At Least There’ll Be Some Rain…

It doesn’t look like the heart of the storm is going to come anywhere near Orlando, so I’m calling off the hurricane party.  However, we should get some good intense downpours from Isaac; indeed, the first outer band of the tropical storm just went through (though the centre of the storm is currently in the Florida Straits).  The rain is what I look forward to the most, so hopefully it will be a wonderfully dreary and wet several days as the storm moves through the Gulf of Mexico.

Just in case, after Holy Mass this morning, Fr. Vernoy prayed an oration and imparted a special blessing against foul and dangerous weather.

The Standard on the Braes o’ Mar

The Jacobite Standard during the ’45.

While the flag above is from the ’45, the song is about the raising of the Jacobite standard at Braemar in 1715.

The standard on the Braes o’ Mar is up and streaming rarely
The gathering pipe on Lochnagar is sounding loud and sairly
The Hieland men, frae hill and glen
Wi’ belted plaids and glittering blades
Wi’ bonnets blue and hearts sae true
Are coming late and early

Oor Prince has made a noble vow tae free his country fairly
Wha wid be a traitor noo tae ane we loo sae dearly?
We’ll go, we’ll go and seek the foe
On land or sea, where e’er they be
And man tae man and in the van
We’ll win or die wi’ Cherlie

I saw oor Prince come o’er the hill wi’ Drummond and Glengarry
And through the pass came brave Locheil, Panmure and gallant Murray
MacDonald’s men, Clanranald’s men
MacKenzie’s men, MacGilivery’s men
Strathallen’s men, the Lowland’s men
Callander and Airlie

That the Race May Not Attain unto Paradise

St. Brigid.

Once upon a time Brigid went to watch over a certain virgin, namely, Brigid, the daughter of Congaile, who used to work many miracles.  And when Brigid and her virgins were at supper, Brigid paused in the middle of the meal, and she said to a certain virgin: “Make thou Christ’s cross over thy face and over thine eyes that thou mayest see what I see.”

So then the virgin beheld Satan beside the table with his head down and his feet up, his smoke and his flame out of his gullet and out of his nostrils.  Said Brigid to the demon that he should answer her:

“I cannot, O nun, be without conversing with thee, for thou keepest God’s commandments and thou art compassionate to God’s poor and to His family.”

“Tell us,” saith Brigid, “why thou art hurtful in thy deeds to the human race?”

Said the demon: “That the race may not attain unto Paradise.”

Said Brigid to the demon: “Wherefore hast thou come to us among our nuns?”

“A certain pious virgin is here,” saith the demon, “and in her company am I.”

Said Brigid to the virgin: “Put Christ’s cross over thine eyes.”  And the virgin beheld at once the hideous monster there, and great fear seized the virgin when she beheld the demon.

“Wherefore shunnest thou,” said Brigid, “the fosterling whom thou hast been cherishing (?) for long seasons?”

Then the virgin repented, and she was healed of the devil of gluttony and lust that had dwelt in her company.

— From an anonymous Life of St. Brigid.

Neil Armstrong is Dead

Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the Moon is dead.  I wasn’t alive in 1969, but still, this makes me feel old.  It’s pathetic that now, having gone to the Moon, the United States is unable even to loft a human passenger to low Earth orbit!

Foul Language

The National Geographic Channel airs a show, Meet the Hutterites, about King Colony, Montana.  As best as I can make out, they’re Amish who cuss up a storm!

When You Give Power, You Know Not What You Give

The wicked will be continually watching: consequently you will be undone. Where are your checks? You have no hereditary nobility — an order of men to whom human eyes can be cast up for relief; for, says the Constitution, there is no title of nobility to be granted — which, by the by, would not have been so dangerous as the perilous cession of powers contained in this paper; because, as Montesquieu says, when you give titles of nobility, you know what you give; but when you give power, you know not what you give. If you say that, out of this depraved mass, you can collect luminous characters, it will not avail, unless this luminous breed will be propagated from generation to generation; and even then, if the number of vicious characters will preponderate, you are undone.

— Patrick Henry, Virginia Ratifying Convention, June 9, 1778.