The modern Catholic poets of Belgium may be roughly divided into two groups, the mystics and the primitives. These terms are here used merely for the purposes of this classification, and cannot perhaps be justified by scientific criticism. Among the mystics I would include such writers as Georges Ramaekers, the brilliant editor of _Le Catholique_, and perhaps Max Elskamp, who use elaborate and complicated symbols, and, in general, may be said to do in verse what the late Joris Karl Huysmans, after his conversion to Catholicism, did in prose. Among the primitives I would place such poets as Victor Kinon and Thomas Braun, who look for their inspirations to the ancient religious life of Flanders, in all its picturesque simplicity, and are more concerned with celebrating the piety of simple Flemish peasants than with endeavouring to penetrate high mysteries. It is to that valued friend of Belgian letters, Mr. Jethro Bithell, of Birbeck College, London, whose translation of Stefan Zweig’s book on Verhaeren has recently earned him the gratitude of the English-speaking public, that we owe this excellent version of Thomas Braun’s _The Benediction of the Nuptial Ring_, taken from this poet’s _The Book of the Benedictions_. The directness and sincerity of this poem suggest the work of George Herbert. THE BENEDICTION OF THE NUPTIAL KING “_That she who shall wear it, keep faith unchanged with her husband and ever live in mutual love._” Almighty God, bless now the ring of gold Which bride and bridegroom shall together hold! They whom fresh water gave to You are now United in You by the marriage vow. The ring is of a heavy, beaten ore, And yet it shall not make the finger sore, But easefully be carried day and night, Because its secret spirit makes it light. Its perfect circle sings into the skin, Nor hurts it, and the phalanx growing thin Under its pressure molds itself ere long, Yet keeps its agile grace and still is strong. So love, which in this symbol lies, with no Beginning more nor ending here below, Shall, if You bless it, Lord, like gold resist, And never show decay, nor flaw, nor twist, And be so light, though solid, that the soul, A composite yet indivisible whole, Shall keep its tender impress to the last, And never know the bonds that bind it fast. In many of Thomas Braun’s poems is to be found a quality suggestive of the folk song. Like the Verhaeren of _Les Flamandes_, Braun writes of those huge, boisterous farmers and merchants who live for us on the canvases of Brauwer and Jan Steen. But he writes of them, it need scarcely be said, in a very different spirit. Verhaeren saw only their gluttony, drunkenness, and coarseness; Braun sees their courage, industry, good-nature, piety. In fact, Verhaeren saw their bodies, Braun sees their souls.