FOREWORD
xv.
There's many a flower in a heavy showerWould say that its hour of grief was black,And the bearded barley would take it hardlyIn the morning early to be cut and stacked;The silver herring off the coast of KerryIs not so merry to meet with Death,But my love, my childeen, she would beguile himWith her easy smiling while he stopped her breath.
If the stars lack teachers, or ever a preacherTo recall the creatures to the ways of God,Let them cease to whistle and come and listen,Kneeling like Christians upon the sod;Then Saint Columba will shake the slumberOf Death that cumbers their tired eyes,And my love will glance with a look entrancingAnd send them dancing to Paradise!
This, perhaps, explains some of his work:—
For I do see in you each separate star,The sun and moon and earth and sky and sea,Mountain and valley, streams that spread afar,White clouds, green grass, red flowers and every tree,The sun and splendour of all things that areBeauty and Truth, faith, hope and charity.
