EPITAPH FOR A BROTHER

[Brother Amyas, originally a novice at Mont St. Michel in
Normandy, has lived all his life since his profession at
the age of seventeen years as Infirmarian at Battle Abbey.
His years weigh heavy on him now, and he awaits his peaceful
death with equanimity, finding gentle amusement
in writing his own epitaph.]

Dear Lord, deal kindly with my bones,
Laid here amongst these alien stones.
I came to heal, thus was I sent,
For Thine and Man's own betterment.
And as I swabbed and stitched and splinted,
At holier ways ofttimes I hinted.
When loosing bowels from straining strictures,
I chanted verses from the Scriptures.
I soothed raw kibes on prayer-wracked palms
Intoning extracts from the Psalms.
Dispensing draughts of bitter gall,
I quoted precepts from St. Paul.
For fevered Brethren, bones a-rattle,
I brewed the Febrifuge of Battle,
And healing unguents I laid on,
With Revelations from St. John.
To Saxon lords, loud, energetic,
I gave an urgent, strong emetic.
And then, Dear Lord, You stopped my breath
Changed strifeful life to peaceful Death.
They pray for me, those I made whole.
Pray, hear them, Lord, then judge my soul.
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