SAINT DOMINIC’S DAY
August 4, Pueblo of Santo Domingo
A blessed Saint is Dominic
And blessed folk are they,
In many a land, ’neath many a sun,
Who keep his holy day——
Who gift of waxen tapers bring
And kneel them down to pray:
Who kneel before his image bright
With golden-bearded face
And gilded robe and coronet
And beg of him a grace——
Where they keep the dear Saint’s festival
In many an outland place.
’Tis in the time of the tasseled maize
When the fields are plumed with green
And the mesas of the terraced land
Red-wall them in between,
While overhead the cloud-flecked sky
Is lazily serene,——
’Tis in this time men dance the corn
That the harvest be not lean.
They gather at the mud-walled church,
A crew of motlied folk,
In gala dress their Saint to bless,
In striped and fringéd cloak,
In beaded shirt and blanket gay,
Answering the bellman’s stroke:
They heed them well the chiméd bell,
They go within to pray
Where golden-bearded Dominic
In festival array——
The blessed Saint in festal paint——
Smiles pleasantly that day:
He smiles upon each worshipper
Who enters at the door
And makes the sign of Christian faith
From the bowl that stands before——
The bowl with olden pagan things
Obscurely patterned o’er,——
Who kneels before the sanguined rail,
The Virgin in her blue,
The Christ upon his painted Cross,——
And nigh them, bright of hue,
A pony and a buffalo
Some dark-skinned artist drew,
With cock and stag and butterfly,
And maize just as it grew
All greened and bannered in the fields
Long ages ere the day
The foreign priest had brought the feast
Of Dominic that way——
The long-robed priest had taught the feast
And taught the words to say
When in the time of tasseled maize
For plenty men must pray:
And so they gather at the church,
As now for many a year,
Within its old adobe walls
Holy mass to hear
While they kneel where dear Saint Dominic
Sits smiling pleasant cheer,——
For corn will grow as all men know
If Dominic be near.
With beating drum and rattling shell,
With gunshot and with shout,
Beneath a flaunting canopy
They bring the bright Saint out,——
The priest with gold-rimmed spectacles,
The friar gowned and stout,
The squaw, the chief, the blanket-man,——
Color a-flame in the motlied clan,——
The lanky long-haired scout
Nigh a bronzen, earringed Navaho
Lingering thereabout.
They march them down the earthen street,——
Each house must Dominic grace;
They chant a hymn in the Latin tongue
Which Old World centuries have sung;
They come to the village place,
Where in his shrine made blanket-gay,
They set the Saint to face
The motlied throng that march with song
Into the sunny space——
White, golden-bearded Dominic
Sainting a dark-skin race.
Oh, skies are blue where all day through
The painted dancers come
With plumes a-flare in their dusky hair,
With rattle and with drum——
In bright array with bannered display,
All timed to the rhythmic drum!
Oh, earth is fair in the sunny air,
With her fields of flowing green,
Where the mesas of the terraced land
Red-wall them in between——
And the folk are gay as they dance the day
That the harvest be not lean!