A Prayer to Saint Anthony

I dreamed, and in the dream of which I now relate,
I saw St. Anthony summoned to St. Peter’s golden gate.

“Dear patron saint of finding things among God’s creation
A simple job I have for you down on an earthly station.”

“I’ll find it,” said St. Anthony, “Be it tooth or limb
What has been lost? I’ll comb the stars and send it back them.”

Said Peter, “I’ve received a prayer from a mortal groom and bride
Today’s their wedding day, and they want you by their side.”

“Why do they call upon me, the Saint of Missing Things?
Did they misplace a bridesmaid—or worse—the wedding rings?”

“Nothing’s amiss,” said Peter, “as far as I can tell,
They just want you on the premises to ensure that all is well.”

St. Anthony rolled his eyes back in his saintly head
And languidly he picked at his golden harp and said:

“For a patron saint so popular, my job is quite a bore
The Patron Saint of False Alarms would fit my duties more.

Some panicked lover thinks she’s lost her sentimental locket
She calls upon my services, and I pluck it from her pocket.

A man receding in wrinkled time was counting his own hair
And called upon St. Anthony to ensure they all were there.

After a tedious inspection, I patiently informed,
Like the lilies, his balding head was properly adorned.

Afraid for his own life, Abram almost lost his wife
And almost lost his son under the point of his own knife,

But in the light of memory, what had he to fear?
Look at his children: you can see they all are here.

Have your forgotten Hagar, Rachel, Esther, Ruth, or Hannah?
God heard their cries, scooped up their tears, and turned them into manna.

Daughters and sons of Israel, tell me why you’re weeping!
Don’t you know you cannot lose the only thing worth keeping?

You can lose your nerve or temper in a whirl of circumstances
Your memory and mind in the cruel tempest of chances

You can lose the game, the race, the battle and the war
You can lose the blessed taste of all you’re fighting for

But there is one thing you cannot lose in poverty or wealth
For better or for worse, in sickness or in health—

Go and learn what this means, oh human man and wife
The blind see, the lame leap, the dead are raised to life

If you find yourself in a dark wood, do not be afraid
No one is lost for very long in the world that He has made.

Entreat me not, He will not lose you: I know the shepherd well.
Whether you ascend to heaven or make your bed in Hell.

And just in case you’ve any doubts the fount of Grace can cease,
Remember, Peter, when you once feared that you had lost your keys.”

Print