English Heritage
It has been announced today that English Heritage are renting a holiday cottage in the grounds of the ancient Cistercian Abbey of Rievaulx.
One of the first tenants commented on BBC TV this morning, "I would like that rockery in my garden".
Weep!
From the Good Friday prayers
Let us pray also for heretics and schismatics: that our Lord and God would be pleased to rescue them from their errors; and recall them to our holy mother the Catholic and Apostolic Church. Let us pray. Let us kneel. (Arise.) Almighty and eternal God, Who savest all, and wouldest that no one should perish: look on the souls that are led astray by the deceit of the devil: that having set aside all heretical evil, the hearts of those that err may repent and return to the unity of Thy truth. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, Who livest and reignest with God the Father in the unity of the Holy Ghost, through all endless ages. Amen.
And A Lament for Our Lady's Shrine at Walsingham, also destroyed by the curse that the protestants call the "reformation".
"In the wrackes of Walsingam
Whom should I chuse
But the Queene of Walsingam
To be guide to my muse?
Then thou Prince of Walsingam
Grant me to frame
Bitter plaintes to rewe thy wronge
Bitter wo for thy name.
Bitter was it oh to see
The seely sheepe
Murdered by the raveninge wolves
While the sheephards did sleep.
Bitter was it oh to vewe
The sacred vyne
While the gardiners plaied all close
Rooted up by the swine.
Bitter, bitter oh to behould
The grasse to growe
Where the walls of Walsingam
So stately did shewe.
Such were the works of Walsingam
While shee did stand
Such are the wrackes as now do shewe
Of that so holy land.
Levell levell with the ground
The towres doe lye
Which with their golden, glitteringe tops
Pearsed once to the skye.
Where weare gates no gates are nowe,
The waies unknowen,
Where the press of peares did passe
While her fame far was blowen.
Oules do scrike where the sweetest himnes
Lately weer songe,
Toades and serpents hold their dennes
Wher the palmers did thronge.
Weepe, weepe O Walsingam,
Whose dayes are nightes,
Blessings turned to blasphemies,
Holy deeds to dispites.
Sinne is wher our Ladie sate,
Heaven turned is to hell,
Satham sittes wher our Lord did swaye,
Walsingam, oh farewell ! "
One of the first tenants commented on BBC TV this morning, "I would like that rockery in my garden".
Weep!
From the Good Friday prayers
Let us pray also for heretics and schismatics: that our Lord and God would be pleased to rescue them from their errors; and recall them to our holy mother the Catholic and Apostolic Church. Let us pray. Let us kneel. (Arise.) Almighty and eternal God, Who savest all, and wouldest that no one should perish: look on the souls that are led astray by the deceit of the devil: that having set aside all heretical evil, the hearts of those that err may repent and return to the unity of Thy truth. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, Who livest and reignest with God the Father in the unity of the Holy Ghost, through all endless ages. Amen.
And A Lament for Our Lady's Shrine at Walsingham, also destroyed by the curse that the protestants call the "reformation".
"In the wrackes of Walsingam
Whom should I chuse
But the Queene of Walsingam
To be guide to my muse?
Then thou Prince of Walsingam
Grant me to frame
Bitter plaintes to rewe thy wronge
Bitter wo for thy name.
Bitter was it oh to see
The seely sheepe
Murdered by the raveninge wolves
While the sheephards did sleep.
Bitter was it oh to vewe
The sacred vyne
While the gardiners plaied all close
Rooted up by the swine.
Bitter, bitter oh to behould
The grasse to growe
Where the walls of Walsingam
So stately did shewe.
Such were the works of Walsingam
While shee did stand
Such are the wrackes as now do shewe
Of that so holy land.
Levell levell with the ground
The towres doe lye
Which with their golden, glitteringe tops
Pearsed once to the skye.
Where weare gates no gates are nowe,
The waies unknowen,
Where the press of peares did passe
While her fame far was blowen.
Oules do scrike where the sweetest himnes
Lately weer songe,
Toades and serpents hold their dennes
Wher the palmers did thronge.
Weepe, weepe O Walsingam,
Whose dayes are nightes,
Blessings turned to blasphemies,
Holy deeds to dispites.
Sinne is wher our Ladie sate,
Heaven turned is to hell,
Satham sittes wher our Lord did swaye,
Walsingam, oh farewell ! "
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