So We'll Live, and Pray, and Sing, and Tell Old Tales

At the close of a semester, I always become somewhat nostalgic. After the crush of exams and papers, I realize that a particular era of life has closed, never to be opened again. For some, I suppose, that's a consolation rather than a joy. Still . . . Gerard Manely Hopkins, unlike many of his romantic contemporaries, gets a lot of respect not only for what he might have done but also for what he did. Hopkins died young, a Jesuit serving in Ireland. He had converted to Catholicism following Cardinal Newman's tulmultuous conversion, and, upon entering religious life, he had made a significant effort to destroy all of his poetry. Thankfully, some of it survived due to the work of a friend and fellow poet, Robert Bridges. Thus, we still have his work today. At the same time, one wonders what Hopkins might have produced had God not called him home. He too, it seems, realized the finality of events in the light of ever-driving time. I first heard this poem at the end of a Catholic Literature course I took my sophomore year of college seminary.