François Calay

Sagesse irlandaise

 


The Wayfarer

The beauty of the world hath made me sad,
This beauty that will pass ;

Sometimes my heart hath shaken with great joy
To see a leaping squirrel in a tree,
Or a red lady-bird upon a stalk,
Or little rabbits in a field at evening,
Lit by a slanting sun,
Or some green hill where shadows drifted by,
Some quiet hill where mountainy man hath sown
And soon would reap; near to the gate of Heaven;
Or children with bare feet upon the sands
Of some ebbed sea, or playing on the streets
Of little towns in Connacht,
Things young and happy.

And then my heart hath told me :
These will pass,
Will pass and change, will die and be no more,
Things bright and green, things young and happy ;

And I have gone upon my way
Sorrowful.

Padraic H. Pearse (1879-1916)

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Presence of God

I see His blood upon the rose
And in the stars the glory of His eyes,
His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.

I see His face in every flower;
The thunder, and the singing of the birds
Are but His voice ; and, carven by His power
Rocks are His written words.

All pathways by His feet are worn,
His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea,
His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn,
His cross is every tree.

Joseph Mary Plunkett (1887-1916)

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old priory
 

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