Irish Minstrelsy/Volume 2/Part 3/Lament of the Gael
LAMENT OF THE GAEL.1
BY HENRY GRATTAN CURRAN.
Woe to the land of Con,2 for o'er the plains
The bounteous soil his sons in freedom trod;
With blind and fierce misrule, the spoiler reigns.
And mocks and mars the eternal laws of God.
Outcast in climes remote, his children weep.
Conjuring Him to be our safety's tower;
Who from the writhing monster of the deep
Redeemed the trembling prophet of his power—
Stretched forth his hand to Noah's faithful race;
And bade them o'er the waves securely ride,
That veiled a slumbering world—He can release
Our sinking land—in Him our hopes abide.
His arm upheld the host of Israel safe.
When countless perils round their path were poured—
Weak in His grasp they saw the billows chafe—
The mightiest shall he His people's sword!
Faith, Hope, and Charity—confiding pray'r—
Breathed to the King of kings, in anguish deep.
The mercy won for Job's unmurmuring care,
That o'er the mourner's trust will never sleep.
Longinus too, with gathering ills opprest,
That solace earned, with tears and holy deeds,
Which heav'n exults to pour upon the breast
That loves, and bows confiding while it bleeds.
And He, the Holy One, whose gushing veins
Spilled their redeeming current for our weal—
He shall be with us— and shall rend our chains,
Our burthens lighten, and our freedom seal.
The extinction of our race—our country's shame.
The tyrant threatens—but the power that shed
Through Lazarus' cold lips the vital flame,
A shield of safety for the Gael shall spread.