A Child of the Snows

There is heard a hymn when the panes are dim,
And never before or again,
When the nights are strong with a darkness long,
And the dark is alive with rain.

Never we know but in sleet and in snow,
The place where the great fires are,
That the midst of the earth is a raging mirth
And the heart of the earth a star.

And at night we win to the ancient inn
Where the child in the frost is furled,
We follow the feet where all souls meet
At the inn at the end of the world.

The gods lie dead where the leaves lie red,
For the flame of the sun is flown,
The gods lie cold where the leaves lie gold,
And a Child comes forth alone.
- G.K. Chesterton


And that's where I got the name for this effort.
If you're not familiar with G.K. Chesterton you could do worse
than to explore here.
The Inn at the End of the World will have the ultimate things
as a foundation. Even if the discussion is about how long it's
taking me to perfect a presentable crunluath.

Off now to learn more about the mechanics of Blogspot.
In the meantime, a happy old feast of Our Lady of Ransom
and a happy new feast - though an old devotion - of Our
Lady of Walsingham this 24 September 2002.