St. Bridget

Sweet heaven's smile

Gleamed o'er the isle,

That gems the dreamy sea.

One far gone day,

And flash'd its ray,

More than a thousand years away,

Pure Bridget, over thee.

White as the snow,

That falls below

To earth on Christmas night,

Thy pure face shone

On every one;

For Christ's sweet grace thy heart had won

To make thy birth-land bright.

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.