From Louvain's learned halls it set sail,
A tome of ancient words, a scholarly grail.
Isaac Voss's Septuagint, bound and sealed,
Its journey through time, quietly revealed.
To Stonyhurst it traveled, under England's rain,
Within its walls, it quietly did remain.
A beacon of knowledge, in Jesuit care,
Its pages of wisdom, scholars came to share.
But time's a river, with its own secret course,
And the book, it seemed, had another source.
Mysteriously it vanished, under cover of night,
To Jerusalem it fled, a beacon of light.
In the city of prophets, where history dwells,
Among ancient stones, and sacred wells.
The Septuagint found a final rest,
In a land that’s always been blessed.
No record tells how it made its way,
Across continents, in night and day.
A journey wrapped in mystery’s shroud,
Silent as a whisper, loud as a cloud.
Now in Jerusalem, it sits in silent repose,
Among texts and relics, its mystery grows.
From Louvain to Stonyhurst, then to ancient sands,
The Septuagint's travels, through many hands.
A testament to the quest for divine word,
In its journey, the heart of faith is stirred.
From Belgium to England, and then to the East,
In Jerusalem, its journey ceased.
But still, it whispers to those who seek,
Of ancient truths, and the wisdom they speak.
Across the ages, its journey spans,
A testament to the work of divine hands.
Statistics: Posted by Secret Alias — Fri Mar 29, 2024 3:22 pm