The field gives the Master of Fox Hounds another round of cheers and applause, and then quiets quickly as the clergyman moves to the forefront.
The minister, his attendants carrying an ancient looking silver crucifix mounted on a six foot tall staff, follow behind him. The vicar opens his prayer book, and flips to a bookmarked page.
“Let us pray,” Caldershot makes the Sign of the Cross while speaking, ‘In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Several large and noisy crows pass overhead, and vanish still squawking as they soar westward over the manor.
“Our Father, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy kingdom come,” continues the Vicar as the assembled throng joins in, “Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil. For thine is Kingdom, and the Power, and the Glory forever. Amen.”
Several of the hounds move forward and the priest rubs their heads and noses. He moves toward Boothby and scratches the muzzle of the Squire’s great horse, still having three Fox Hounds joyfully spinning around him.
“Heavenly Father, bless all your creatures that share in this hunt, and grant that each may find their own path as you, Our Father, have ordained since the beginning of time. Extend your merciful hands upon the Field Masters, Grooms, Equerry, Huntsman and their staffs, who have loved, trained, and cared for the animals that we see, and whose marvelous songs will shall hear today,” prays Reverend Caldershot raising his hands in blessing while he speaks, “Bless and shield these brave riders, man and woman, from danger to life and limb. Bless these noble steeds who will run today and bear their riders, let them all come through this day unhurt. Keep in your Merciful Hands the hounds who hunt today as did their ancestors, in this special sport. Let them be diligent in the efforts and eager to raise their voices in their own hymn of praise.”
Several of the hounds, as if on cue, take up the cry, and sighting a nearby orange house cat, start to yip. They are quickly and quietly stilled by the Huntsman who calms them under his breath.
“Your pardon, Vicar,” says the red-faced man, “My apologies for the interruption, sir. Pray continue.”
The whippers-in move around the edge of the pack. The interloping cat, recognizing his error, flees for his life through the kitchen door.
The Vicar lifts an eyebrow at the commotion, and then smiling, continues the prayer.
“And last but not least, Our Heavenly Father, bless our noble quarry, the wily Master Fox, and grant that our skilled and cunning foe may be our guide to a deeper understanding, appreciation, and love for your natural world,” continues the Vicar, “Help us all to see and appreciate the eager willingness and creative cunning that makes Reynard the very heart of the spectacle we participate in this day. O God, who blesses all things by Thy Word, pour down Thy blessing on Thy servants and horses, and their hounds; to all who shall take part in this hunt, grant protection of body and soul. Grant that the true sportsmanship may prevail in all we do this day through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. Unto God’s gracious mercy and protection we commit all of you gathered here today. May the Lord bless and keep you. May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you and give each of you here in this company, peace, this day and evermore, through Christ Our Lord. Amen.”
The field echoes loudly, “Amen.”
There is a moment of silence as the Vicar turns back to where his acolytes stand with the cross. He takes the staff from the boy and holds it out in his right hand.
“Praise God from whom all blessings flow,” the Vicar sings out loudly, projecting over the crowd. The riders begin to take up the familiar hymn.
From over a quarter mile away, the hill-toppers join in.
“Praise Him, all creatures here below; Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost” the voices all meld together, the ancient hymn echoing from the hilltops down into the scene below, “Amen.”
Several large and noisy crows pass overhead, and vanish still squawking as they soar westward over the manor.
“Our Father, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy kingdom come,” continues the Vicar as the assembled throng joins in, “Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil. For thine is Kingdom, and the Power, and the Glory forever. Amen.”
Several of the hounds move forward and the priest rubs their heads and noses. He moves toward Boothby and scratches the muzzle of the Squire’s great horse, still having three Fox Hounds joyfully spinning around him.
“Heavenly Father, bless all your creatures that share in this hunt, and grant that each may find their own path as you, Our Father, have ordained since the beginning of time. Extend your merciful hands upon the Field Masters, Grooms, Equerry, Huntsman and their staffs, who have loved, trained, and cared for the animals that we see, and whose marvelous songs will shall hear today,” prays Reverend Caldershot raising his hands in blessing while he speaks, “Bless and shield these brave riders, man and woman, from danger to life and limb. Bless these noble steeds who will run today and bear their riders, let them all come through this day unhurt. Keep in your Merciful Hands the hounds who hunt today as did their ancestors, in this special sport. Let them be diligent in the efforts and eager to raise their voices in their own hymn of praise.”
Several of the hounds, as if on cue, take up the cry, and sighting a nearby orange house cat, start to yip. They are quickly and quietly stilled by the Huntsman who calms them under his breath.
“Your pardon, Vicar,” says the red-faced man, “My apologies for the interruption, sir. Pray continue.”
The whippers-in move around the edge of the pack. The interloping cat, recognizing his error, flees for his life through the kitchen door.
The Vicar lifts an eyebrow at the commotion, and then smiling, continues the prayer.
“And last but not least, Our Heavenly Father, bless our noble quarry, the wily Master Fox, and grant that our skilled and cunning foe may be our guide to a deeper understanding, appreciation, and love for your natural world,” continues the Vicar, “Help us all to see and appreciate the eager willingness and creative cunning that makes Reynard the very heart of the spectacle we participate in this day. O God, who blesses all things by Thy Word, pour down Thy blessing on Thy servants and horses, and their hounds; to all who shall take part in this hunt, grant protection of body and soul. Grant that the true sportsmanship may prevail in all we do this day through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. Unto God’s gracious mercy and protection we commit all of you gathered here today. May the Lord bless and keep you. May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you and give each of you here in this company, peace, this day and evermore, through Christ Our Lord. Amen.”
The field echoes loudly, “Amen.”
There is a moment of silence as the Vicar turns back to where his acolytes stand with the cross. He takes the staff from the boy and holds it out in his right hand.
“Praise God from whom all blessings flow,” the Vicar sings out loudly, projecting over the crowd. The riders begin to take up the familiar hymn.
From over a quarter mile away, the hill-toppers join in.
“Praise Him, all creatures here below; Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost” the voices all meld together, the ancient hymn echoing from the hilltops down into the scene below, “Amen.”
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