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Irish Poems and Blessings

for our upcoming St. Patrick's Day

17 March 2007

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DEDICATION

by Patrick MacGill (1890- )

from 1000 years of Irish Poetry

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I speak with a proud tongue of the people who were

And the people who are,

The worthy of Ardara, the Rosses and Inishkeel,

My kindred-

The people of the hills and the dark-haired passes

My neighbours on the lift of the brae,I

n the lap of the valley.

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To them Slainthé!

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I speak of the old men,

The wrinkle-rutted,

Who dodder about foot-weary -

For their day is as the day that has been and is no more -

Who warm their feet by the fire,

And recall memories of the times that are gone;

Who kneel in the lamplight and pray

For the peace that has been theirs -

And who beat one dry-veined hand against another

Even in the sun-

For the coldness of death is on them.

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I speak of the old women

Who danced to yesterday's fiddle

And dance no longer.

They sit in a quiet place and dream

And see visions

Of what is to come,

Of their issue,

Which has blossomed to manhood and womanhood -

And seeing thus

They are happy

For the day that was leaves no regrets,

And peace is theirs

And perfection.

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I speak of the strong men

Who shoulder their burdens in the hot day,

Who stand on the market-place

And bargain in loud voices,

Showing their stock to the world.

Straight the glance of their eyes -

Broad-shouldered,

Supple.

Under their feet the holms blossom,

The harvest yields.

The their path is of prosperity.

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I speak of the women,

Strong hipped, full-bosomed,

Who drive the cattle to graze at dawn,

Who milk the cows at dusk.

Grace in their homes,

And in the crowded ways

Modest and seemly -

Mother of children!

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I speak of the children

Of the many townlands,

Blossoms of the Bogland,

Flowers of the Valley,

Who know not yesterday, nor to-morrow,

And are happy,

The pride of those who have begot them.

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And thus it is,

Every and always,I

n Ardara, the Rosses and Inishkeel -

Here, as elsewhere,

The Weak, the Strong, and the Blossoming -

And thus my kindred.

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To them Slainthé!

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LINES TO ERIN

by J. J. Callananfrom

The Poetry and Song of Ireland

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When dullness shall chain the wild harp that would praise thee,

When its last sigh of freedom is heard on thy shore,

When its raptures shall bless the false hearth that betrays thee -

Oh, then, dearest Erin, I'll love thee no more!

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When thy sons are less tame than their own ocean waters,

When their last flash of wit and genious is o'er,

When virtue and beauty forsake thy young daughters -

Oh, then, dearest Erin, I'll love thee no more!

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When the sun that now holds his bright path o'er the mountains

Forgets the green fields that he smiled on before,

When no moonlight shall sleep on thy lakes and thy fountains -

Oh, then, dearest Erin, I'll love thee no more!

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When the name of the Saxon and tyrant shall sever,

When the freedom you lost you no longer deplore,

When the thoughts of your wrongs shall be sleeping forever -

Oh, then, dearest Erin, I'll love thee no more!

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STANZAS TO ERIN

by J. J. Callanan

from The Poetry and Song of Ireland

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Still green are thy mountains and bright is thy shore, And the voice of thy fountains is heard as of yore: The sun o'er thy valleys, dear Erin, shines on,Though thy bard and thy lover forever is gone.

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Nor shall he, an exile, thy glad scenes forget -The friends fondly loved, ne'er again to be met -The glens where he mused on the deeds of his nation,And waked his young harp with wild inspiration.

Still, still, though between us may roll the broad ocean, Will I cherish thy name with the same deep devotion; And though minstrels more brilliant my place may supply, None loves you more fondly, more truly than I.

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Songs of Our Land

by Francis Brown

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Songs of our land, ye are with us for ever,The power and the splendor of thrones pass away;But yours is the might of some far flowing river.Through Summer's bright roses or Autumn's decay.Ye treasure each voice of the swift passing ages,And truth which time writeth on leaves or on sand;Ye bring us the thoughs of poets and sages,And keep them among us, old songs of our land.

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The bards may go down to the place of their slumbers,The lyre of the charmer be hushed in the grave,But far in the future the power of their numbersShall kindle the hearts of our faithful and brave,It will waken an echo in souls deep and lonely,Like voices of reeds by the summer breeze fanned;It will call up a spirit for freedom, when onlyHer breathings are heard in the songs of our land.

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For they keep a record of those, the true-hearted,Who fell with the cause they had vowed to maintain;They show us bright shadows of glory departed,Of love that grew cold and hope that was vain.The page may be lost and the pen long forsaken,And weeds may grow wild o'er the brave heart and hand;But ye are still left when all else hath been taken,Like streams in the desert, sweet songs of our land.

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Songs of our land, ye have followed the stranger,With power over ocean and desert afar,Ye have gone with our wanderers through distance and danger,And gladdened their path like a homeguiding star.With the breath of our mountains in summers long vanished,And visions that passed like a wave from the sand,With hope for their country and joy from her banished.Ye come to us ever, sweet songs of our land.

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The spring time may come with the song of our glory,To bid the green heart of the forest rejoice,But the pine of the mountain though blasted and hoary,And the rock in the desert, can send forth a voice,It was thus in their triumph for deep desolations,While ocean waves roll or the mountains shall stand,Still hearts that are bravest and best of the nations,Shall glory and live in the songs of our land.
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Irish Blessings

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May the Irish hills caress you. May her lakes and rivers bless you.May the luck of the Irish enfold you. May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.

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Now sweetly lies old Ireland. Emerald green beyond the foam, Awakening sweet memories, Calling the heart back home.

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Ireland, it's the one place on earth. That heaven has kissedWith melody, mirth, And meadow and mist.

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Wherever you go and whatever you do, May the luck of the Irish be there with you.

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May your heart be warm and happy. With the lilt of Irish laughter. Every day in every way. And forever and ever after.

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May the luck of the Irish possess you. May the devil fly off with your worries. May God bless you forever and ever.

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Bless your little Irish heart - and every other Irish part.

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Ireland is where strange tales begin and happy endings are possible.

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An Irish method for tackling problems; There comes a time when you must take the bull By the tail and face the situation squarely.

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Here's to good Irish friends. Never above you. Never below you. May the Irish hills caress you. May her lakes and rivers bless you. May the luck of the Irish enfold you. May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.

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Now sweetly lies old Ireland.

Emerald green beyond the foam, Awakening sweet memories, Calling the heart back home.

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Ireland, it's the one place on earth. That heaven has kissed With melody, mirth,And meadow and mist.

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Wherever you go and whatever you do, May the luck of the Irish be there with you.
May your heart be warm and happy With the lilt of Irish laughterEvery day in every way. And forever and ever after.

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May the blessing of Light be on you - light without and light within, May the blessed sunlight shine on you and warm your heart till it glows like a great peat fire, so that the stranger may come and warm himself at it, and also a friend. And may the light shine out of the two eyes of you, like a candle set in two windows of a house, bidding the wanderer to come in out of the storm.

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And may the blessing of the Rain be on you - the soft sweet rain. May it fall upon your spirit so that all the little flowers may spring up, and shed their sweetness on the air. And may the blessing of the Great Rains be on you, may they beat upon your spirit and wash it fair and clean, and leave there many a shining pool where the blue of heaven shines, and sometimes a star.

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And may the blessing of the Earth be on you - the great round earth; may you ever have a kindly greeting for them you pass as you're going along the roads. May the earth be soft under you when yourest upon it, tired at the end of the day, and mayit rest easy over you when, at the last, you layout under it; May it rest so lightly over you, that your soul may be out from under it quickly, and up, and off, and on its way to God.

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May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, And the rains fall soft upon your fields.And until we meet again. May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

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Pat O'Connor

9 March 2007