A great wind blew upon that day, As for a ship that broke upon the sea, To fill its sails and pull it from the bay From where it once and long had lain Upon the journey that its last would be. A gust that caught a history; An autumn breeze that came in spring, That blows away the leaves and memory Who, once the beauty of their trees, Forget the branch to which they fastly cling. A breath to sing the ending note And turn the final pages of the book, In which the golden, flowing letters wrote A life now set beneath its stone; That spoke and in our core we shook. The Western Wind in billowed sails That urged the oaken ship to azure crest And ripped the withered leaf within its gales Has closed the book and ceased its tale Upon the wooden tomb—still let it rest. Beyond our view, in toss and swell The high, proud stern to which we’ve set our eyes, It glints from far away: bestows farewell. And we, o’ercome with tears, remain, But not to disregard here where he lies.

Br Paul Stein, of the Legionaries of Christ, studies for the priesthood in Rome.