Ballads of Peace in War | Page 5

say,?Is known the world around,?For children by taking his stories?To their homes in foreign ground.
I pity my brother his fortunes,?And how he sits alone,?With the money that keeps his body,?But leaves his heart a stone.
And sometimes do I be feeling?A dream of death in my ear,?And a heaven of children calling,?"Tim of the Tales is here."
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MY FATHER'S TUNES
My father had the gay good tunes, the like you'd seldom hear, A whole day could he whistle them, an' thin he'd up an' sing, The merry tunes an' twists o'them that suited all the year, An' you wouldn't ask but listen if yourself stood there a king. Early of a mornin' would he give "The Barefoot Boy" to us,?An' later on "The Rocky Road" or maybe "Mountain Lark,"?"Trottin' to the Fair" was a liltin' heart of joy to us,?An' whin we heard "The Coulin" sure the night was never dark.
An' what's the good o' foolish tunes, the moilin' folks 'ud say, It's better teach the children work an' get the crock o' gold; Thin sorra take their wisdom whin it makes them sad an' gray,-- A man is fitter have a song that never lets him old.?A stave of "Gillan's Apples" or a snatch of "Come Along With Me" Will warm the cockles o' your heart, an' life will keep its prime. Yarra, gold is all the richer whin it's "Danny, sing a song for me" Or what's the good o' money if you're dead afore your time.
It's sense to do your turn o' work, it's healthy to be wise, An' have the little crock o' gold agin the day o' rain;?But whin the ground is heaviest, your heart will feel the skies, If you know a little Irish song to lift the road o' pain.?The learnin' an' the wealth we have are never sad an' gray with us, The dullest times in all the year are merry as the June:?For we've the heart to up an' sing "Arise, an' come away with us," The way my father gave it, an' we laughin' in the tune.
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A SONG
(For John McCormack)
June of the trees in glory,?June of the meadows gay!?O, and it works a story?To tell an October day.
Blooms of the apple and cherry?Toil for the far-off hours;?Never is idleness merry,?In song of the garden bowers.
Brooks to the sea from mountains,?Yea, and from field and vine:?Rain and the sun are fountains?That gather for wheat and wine.
Cellar and loft shall glory,?Table and hearth shall praise,?Hearing October's story?Of June and the merry days.
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A BALLAD OF FRANCE
Ye who heed a nation's call?And speed to arms therefor,?Ye who fear your children's march?To perils of the war,--?Soldiers of the deck and camp?And mothers of our men,?Hearken to a tale of France?And tell it oft again.
? * *
In the east of France by the roads of war,?(God save us evermore from Mars and Thor!}?Up and down the fair land iron armies came,?(Pity, Jesu, all who fell, calling Thy name).
Pleasant all the fields were round every town,?Garden airs went sweetly up, heaven smiled down;?Till under leaden hail with flaming breath,?Graves and ashen harvest were the keep of death.
One little town stood, white on a hill,?Chapel and hostel gates, farms and windmill,?Chapel and countryside met the gunner's path,?Till no blade of kindly grass hid from his wrath.
Lo! When the terrain cleared out of murky air,?When mid the ruins stalked death and despair,?One figure stood erect, bright with day,--?Christ the Crucified, though His Cross was shot away.
Flame and shot tore away all the tender wood,?Yet with arms uplifted Christ His Figure stood;?Out reached the blessing hands, meek bowed the head,?Christ! The saving solace o'er the waste of dead.
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A Ballad of France
France tells the story, make our hearts know well,?Christ His Figure stands against the gates of hell:?Flame and shot may rive the fortress walls apart,?Christ the Crucified will heal the breaking heart.
Wear Him day and night, wherever be the war,?(God save us evermore from Mars and Thor!)?Flag and heart that keep Him fear not shot and flame,?(Strengthen, Jesu, all who stand, calling Thy name).
? * *
Ye who guard a nation's call?And speed to arms therefor,?Ye who pray for brave lads gone?To perils of the war;?Soldiers of the fleet and fort?And mothers of our men,?In the shadow of the Cross?Shall we find peace again.
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TO ONE IN SUCCESS
A world's new faces greet you,?Ten thousand quick with praise,?But truer stay to meet you?Old friends and other days:?Let fickle changes hurt you,?(The new go quick apart)?One fame shall ne'er desert you?In true hearts like this heart.
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THE LIFELONG WAR
Still goes the strife; the anguish does not die.?Stronger the flesh is grown from earthy years,?In siege about my soul that upward peers?To see and hold its Good. The spirit's eye?Approves the better things; but senses spy?The passing sweets, spurning the present fears,?And take their moment's prize. Ah, then hot tears?Deluge my