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424 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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There grows a tree in the garden
With blossoms that tremble and shake, I lay my hand on its bark
And I feel that my heart must break. On one wish alone
My soul through the long months ran, One little kiss
From the wife of the Red-haired man.
But the day of doom shall come,
And hills and harbors be rent; A mist shall fall on the sun
From the dark clouds heavily sent; The sea shall be dry,
And earth under mourning and ban; Then loud shall he cry
For the wife of the Red-haired man. |
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THE SIGN OF THE CROSS FOREVER
I came across this religious poem in Irish among the manuÂscripts of William Smith O'Brien, the Irish Leader, at Caher-moyle. It was attributed to a Father O'Meehan.—Douglas Hyde in " Religious Songs of Connacht."
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ROM the foes of my land, from the foes of my faith, From the foes who would us dissever, O Lord, preserve me in life, in death, With the Sign of the Cross forever.
By death on the Cross was the race restored,
For vain was our endeavor; Henceforward blessed, O blessed Lord,
Be the Sign of the Cross forever. |
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