St. Bridget

A poem by Abram Joseph Ryan

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.

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