Part 48

A cloud hangs o'er Thy Erin's shore -- Ah! God, 'twas always so. Ah! virgin fair Thy heaven pray'r Will help thy people in their care, And save them from their woe.

Thou art in light -- They are in light; Thou hast a crown -- they a chain. The very sod, Made theirs by God, Is still by tyrants' footsteps trod; They pray -- but all in vain.

Thou! near Christ's throne, Dost hear the moan Of all their hearts that grieve; Ah! virgin sweet, Kneel at His feet, Where angels' hymns thy prayer shall greet, And pray for them this eve.

New Year

Each year cometh with all his days, Some are shadowed and some are bright; He beckons us on until he stays Kneeling with us 'neath Christmas night.

Kneeling under the stars that gem The holy sky, o'er the humble place, When the world's sweet Child of Bethlehem Rested on Mary, full of grace.

Not only the Bethlehem in the East, But altar Bethlehem everywhere, When the ~Gloria~ of the first great feast Rings forth its gladness on the air.

Each year seemeth loath to go, And leave the joys of Christmas day; In lands of sun and in lands of snow, The year still longs awhile to stay.

A little while, 'tis hard to part From this Christ blessed here below, Old year! and in thy aged heart I hear thee sing so sweet and low.

A song like this, but sweeter far, And yet as if with a human tone, Under the blessed Christmas star, And thou descendest from thy throne.

"A few more days and I am gone, The hours move swift and sure along; Yet still I fain would linger on In hearing of the Christmas song.

"I bow to Him who rules all years; Thrice blessed is His high behest; Nor will He blame me if, with tears, I pass to my eternal rest.

"Ah, me! to altars every day I brought the sun and the holy Mass; The people came by my light to pray, While countless priests did onward pass.

"The words of the Holy Thursday night To one another from east to west; And the holy Host on the altar white Would take its little half-hour's rest.

"And every minute of every hour The Mass bell rang with its sound so sweet, While from shrine to shrine, with tireless power, And heaven's love, walked the nailed feet.

"I brought the hours for ~Angelus~ bells, And from a thousand temple towers They wound their sweet and blessed spell Around the hearts of all the hours.

"Every day has a day of grace For those who fain would make them so; I saw o'er the world in every place The wings of guardian angels glow.

"Men! could you hear the song I sing -- But no, alas! it cannot be so! My heir that comes would only bring Blessings to bless you here below."

* * * * *

Seven days passed; the gray, old year Calls to his throne the coming heir; Falls from his eyes the last, sad tear, And lo! there is gladness everywhere.

Singing, I hear the whole world sing, Afar, anear, aloud, alow: "What to us will the New Year bring!" Ah! would that each of us might know!

Is it not truth? as old as true? List ye, singers, the while ye sing! Each year bringeth to each of you What each of you will have him bring.

The year that cometh is a king, With better gifts than the old year gave; If you place on his fingers the holy ring Of prayer, the king becomes your slave.

Zeila (A Story from a Star)

From the mystic sidereal spaces, In the noon of a night 'mid of May, Came a spirit that murmured to me -- Or was it the dream of a dream? No! no! from the purest of places, Where liveth the highest of races, In an unfallen sphere far away (And it wore Immortality's gleam) Came a Being. Hath seen on the sea The sheen of some silver star shimmer 'Thwart shadows that fall dim and dimmer O'er a wave half in dream on the deep? It shone on me thus in my sleep.

Was I sleeping? Is sleep but the closing, In the night, of our eyes from the light? Doth the spirit of man e'en then rest? Or doth it not toil all the more? When the earth-wearied frame is reposing, Is the vision then veiled the less bright? When the earth from our sight hath been taken, The fetters of senses off shaken, The soul, doth it not then awaken To the light on Infinity's shore? And is not its vision then best, And truest, and farthest, and clearest? In night, is not heaven the nearest? Ah, me! let the day have his schemers, Let them work on their ways as they will, And their workings, I trow, have their worth. But the unsleeping spirits of dreamers, In hours when the world-voice is still, Are building, with faith without falter, Bright steps up to heaven's high altar, Where lead all the aisles of the earth.

Was I sleeping? I know not -- or waking? The body was resting, I ween; Meseems it was o'ermuch tired With the toils of the day that had gone; When sudden there came the bright breaking Of light thro' a shadowy screen; And with the brightness there blended The voice of the Being descended From a star ever pure of all sin, In music too sweet to be lyred By the lips of the sinful and mortal. And, oh! how the pure brightness shone! As shines thro' the summer morn's portal Rays golden and white as the snow, As white as the flakes -- ah, no! whiter; Only angelic wings may be brighter When they flash o'er the brow of some woe That walketh this shadowed below.

The soul loseth never its seeing, In the goings of night and of day It graspeth the Infinite Far. No wonder there may come some Being, As if it had wandered astray At times down the wonder-filled way -- As to me in the midnight of May -- From its home in some glory-crowned star, Where evil hath never left traces; Where dwelleth the highest of races, Save the angels that circle the throne, In a grace far beyond all our graces, Whose Christ is the same as our own.