To our most Holy Father Saint Benedict 1658

Most glorious Father, in whose School
I live and hope to die,
God grant I may observe thy Rule,
For in that all doth lie.
For no perfection can be named,
Which us it doth not teach.
O happy she, who in her soul,
The sense thereof doth reach!
But many praise Obedience
And thy humility,
And yet conceive not as they should,
What either of them be.
The simple humble loving souls
Only the sense find out
Of any discreet, obedient Rule,
And these are void of doubt.
Yea, under shadow of thy wings
They up to heaven fly,
And taste here in this vale of tears
What perfect peace doth lie,
Hid in performance of thy Rule
That leadeth unto heaven;

O happy souls who it perform,
The ways so sweet and even!
By Prayer and Patience it’s fulfilled,
Charity, Obedience,
By seeking after God alone,
And giving none offense.
The more I look upon thy Rule,
The more in it I find;
O do to me the sense unfold,
For letter makes us blind!
And blessed, yea, a thousand times,
Be thou who it hast writ,
And thy sweet blessing give to them,
Who truly perform it.
For those are they which will conserve
This house in perfect peace,
Without which all we do is lost,
And all that’s good will cease.
And praised be our glorious God,
Who gave to thee such grace,
Not only him thyself to seek,
But also out to trace
A way so easy and secure,
If we will but thee hear,6
To have relation to our God,
Who is to us so near.
For at this thou dost chiefly aim:
That God our souls do teach.
O if we did truly obey,
He would by all things preach
His will to us by everything
That did to us befall;
And then as thou desir’st it should
He would be all in all
pray dear Father that he ever be,
our only love and all eternally. Amen