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!

With naked bodies striped and daubed, With flaming parrot crest, Bright necklaces, and terraced crowns Adorned with floating featherdowns---- Earth with the sunlight blest! And ghostly white Koshare clowns, Like souls that know no rest---- Like living souls with ancient things Uncannily possessed!

To rattle and drum the dancers come, The dust-brown earth they beat, While the singers intone an heathen drone Where they follow with rhythmic feet---- An heathen drone which their sires had known Would make the harvest sweet!

They come before Saint Dominic, They dance the growing maize, Its planting and its tasseling, Full-bladed summer days, And the dews and rains that fill the grains, And the purple harvest haze---- The life that lies in Mother Earth And in bright Sun-Father’s rays:

Dancing they sing the antique song That made the maize to grow Or ever Christian priest or saint Their sires had come to know---- Dancing they sing an heathen thing Out of the long ago---- That brought fair yield to the tilléd field Dim centuries ago.

Yes, a blessed Saint is Dominic And blessed folk are they Who come with dancing feet to meet Upon his holy day---- Who tapers bring and old songs sing And reverently pray

Kneeling before his image bright With its golden-bearded face, As the priests had taught when first they brought Their Saint to the dark-skin race,---- Who should keep each year his festival In their ancient dancing-place.

They kneel 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. ]

They mocked her for her outland ways, They jeered her kin and clan. ]