To the little Southern Men Saint Andrew answered he: “I have heard from the Northern fen Your moan from the Gaulish sea; And though I pass you by, And may not see your face, Yet my Lord hath heard your cry, And He sends you hope of grace. “Three saints shall teach the land That lies by the Southern sea; Three saints on your shores shall stand— A thrice-noble company. The Word that heals and saves, Which to the Scots I send, Wilfred shall teach by the waves That beat on Manhood’s End. “On Havant’s drawling tide, Which round the island swells, The solemn ships shall glide To the chime of Richard’s bells: On Mayfield’s hills the iron Of Dunstan’s anvil rings As he hammers gates for Zion And fights Unholy Things. “So faint not—all is well, And the price of hope is paid By the Lord Who hath harrowed hell, And hath made the gods afraid. Eternity keeps the hours Till the Sussex Saints go forth— Wilfred and Richard and Dunstan are yours, But Andrew goes to the North.” ST. PHILIP & ST. JAMES TO ST. SIMON & ST. JUDE Said the May Day Saints to the Grey Day Saints, Singing across the year: How is it with you in October? With us the meadows are green, And the grass is warm with the sun, And strown with the golden pence Of the coltsfoot, our offertory. The tapers are lit for our feast— Tall tapers are lit for our feast In the drooping horse-chestnut boughs; And the thrushes serve our Mass There in the white thorn hedge, Where the bloom is breaking against A smudgy, sweet, grey sky That shall give us holy water.... Oh, tell us, October Saints, How you fare at the end of the year. Are you cold in the draught of the year?— On the edge of the fog of All Saints And the gloom of the Holy Souls?