![](\"https:\/\/4.bp.blogspot.com\/-7LVZvHv1tBI\/ToMiAJZ-t2I\/AAAAAAAACHs\/KGNG6KWNPK0\/s1600\/Father_Ryan.jpg\")
<\/a><\/div>\nI love this photograph of Fr. Abram J. Ryan<\/a>. Maybe it\u2019s his hair, or perhaps it\u2019s his stare. He has that look about him that says \u201cI don\u2019t care who you are, here comes the goods.\u201d Last summer I shared his Song of the Mystic<\/i>,<\/a> and his background information, in this space. There\u2019s a connection between him and me because (for a time) he was the pastor of the parish where I attend daily Mass. I bet he was a great preacher too. But he was a poet, see, not just some hell fire and brimstone preacher. He was a mystic, a man of prayer. As well as a thinker and a doer. He was no poseur, as a poet either, as a reading of the following verses will make clear.<\/p>\n Thoughts, by Fr. Abram J. Ryan<\/b><\/i><\/p>\n By sound of name, and touch of hand,<\/i> See what I mean? Maybe you have to be Irish, but\u2026this guy is good!<\/p>\n I love this photograph of Fr. Abram J. Ryan. Maybe it\u2019s his hair, or perhaps it\u2019s his stare. He has that look about him that says \u201cI don\u2019t care who you are, here comes the goods.\u201d Last summer I shared his Song of the Mystic, and his background information, in this space. There\u2019s a connection […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":140,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[26,36,41],"tags":[38,22,11],"class_list":["post-590","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-culture","category-living","category-praying","tag-fathers","tag-poetry","tag-prayer"],"yoast_head":"\n
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I can imagine hearing him raise his voice at times, opening his eyes wide to make a point, sweeping his mane aside and raising his hands to heaven. And within a moment, dropping his voice fall into a whisper that leaves you on the edge of your seat hungering for the nectar he has teased from the readings. A priest who had seen war in both the heights of it\u2019s glory and the depths of it\u2019s desolation, and then applied what he saw to the Word. I bet it was something to behold.<\/p>\n
Thro\u2019 ears that hear, and eyes that see,<\/i>
We know each other in this land,<\/i>
How little must that knowledge be?<\/i>
<\/i>
How souls are all the time alone,<\/i>
No spirit can another reach;<\/i>
They hide away in realms unknown,<\/i>
Like waves that never touch a beach.<\/i>
<\/i>
We never know each other here,<\/i>
No soul can here another see \u2014<\/i>
To know, we need a light as clear<\/i>
As that which fills eternity.<\/i>
<\/i>
For here we walk by human light,<\/i>
But there the light of God is ours,<\/i>
Each day, on earth, is but a night;<\/i>
Heaven alone hath clear-faced hours.<\/i>
<\/i>
I call you thus \u2014 you call me thus \u2014<\/i>
Our mortal is the very bar<\/i>
That parts forever each of us,<\/i>
As skies, on high, part star from star.<\/i>
<\/i>
A name is nothing but a name<\/i>
For that which, else, would nameless be;<\/i>
Until our souls, in rapture, claim<\/i>
Full knowledge in eternity.<\/i><\/p>\n