VERSES OLD AND NEW.

Dominion, Volume 4, Issue 1114, 29 April 1911, Page 9

VERSES OLD AND NEW.

BLESSING. ,At night I sit beside the hearth <■' Anil watch the glowing sod; 1' tell my beads autl say a name That's known to me and God. That's surely known to mo and God, l'or«every night and day 1 call a blessing on the ono That travels iar away. That travels far-away itself To earn a strangers gold. Hay God's love be a mantle now. To shield him from the cold. To shield him from the bitter cold, And from a bitter tongue: It's har*h and strange are foreign lands. To one that's soft and young. To one whose heart is hot and young The thought of home is dear. 0 Heart of Christ, shield him I love And hold him warm and near. Hoid him that travels warm and near, And keen his spirit white; Be safety to him through the day And shelter through the night. Be shelter through the long, dark night Wherever he may be, Send thoughts of Ireland to his dreams And keep him true to me. THE KIND COMPANION. 1 lost my kind companion this Friday was a week, The likes of him, my decent man, you might go far to seek. 'Tis woeful now, my comrade gone, Tc be'so sad and lone. Myself upon the 'green earth still,. An' him beneath a stone. A quiet man he always was, and quietly ne died, With ue,'er a. word and ne'er a call to bring me to his side. My grief, my grief, the -way I am To sit here lone and sad, An* never see himself, nor hear The kindly word ho had. j Ah! whisper, honey, quare old ways 1 have |or lettin' on i That he's still in it all the time I know his body's gone;' For sometimes when I wot the tay I do be talking fast, Pretending all the whiles himself Will answer mo at last. An' sometimes, sitting by the fire, I think . I hear his tread, '"Tis sure himself," I say those times, "that's stirring overhead." 'Tis only notions that I have That just divert my mind, When waiting here in lonesomeness I hear the rising wind. 'Tis closing in on fifty year since him and me got' wed, ' A quiet man he always was, an' few the words he said; But sure lie had a right itself To take me with him, too, My quiet, kind companion, That God may welcome'you!

the little childhee in the street: The little childher in tho.streetIt's shipwrecked sure they are with cold, There's soma of them riot eight years old, And ne'er a boot upon their feet. To beg a copper they go far In rain and frost, in snow and sleet, The little childher in the street— You'd pity them the way they are. There's other childher warmly clad That live in houses in the Square, They all have coppers and to spare, The sight,pf them would make you glad; ; A nurse, 150 sure,.is never far ~ r To shield them from the rain arid cold; : ' They're guarded like a bag of gold— YoVd envy them the way they are. Now them that look so rich and grand And them that slaver in tho street— I wonder will they ever meet And walk together hand in.hand. I do be thinking when they're small • It's like they are as peas in pod; Maybe they're liko as that to God — It's sure enough He made them all; STORM. (County Wexford.) There's a storm is blowing up from the sea. —That Christ in mercy may save us all— For the waves are lapping the harbour wall, 'An' dirty weather it's sure to be. The storm-dog shone in the \ morning sky And the waves to the west are ten foot high. God in Heaven! the waves aro white— Let You watch near the boats to-night! For it's sure enough when the shadows fall Sorrow will come for some of us here; In the cold black night with' its cold black, fear; Fear of the sea and fear of the squall. A woeful thing it is to be wed To a man that looks to the sea for bread! Holy Mary, pity' our plight, Let you pray for our men to-night! There's Patrick is in it and Christy too, A soft young lad an' he not sixteen— An' his brother drownded last Hallow E'en— God help his mother, what will she do? She bad a.right to have bid him stav, But the young lads fret till they" go away. God keep Christy and John in sight, Save'them both from their death tonight ! There is Daniel Connor' and young Tom Byrne With a child at homo not three days old; But it's hungry the child will be and cold If there's no man in it, nor wago to earn; An' lonesome herself will be this day That's sick and weak an' her man away. Heart of Heaven, pity her fright, Send her comfort this long, black night! The wind of the world is lashing tho sea. The waves lep high like men at a fair, ' Wicked old men with their silvery hair Sorrow and weeping for some one there'll be, Toil for tho men an' danger and fear, With the cold, black death that is waiting near. God Almighty, pity their plight, Let Christ walk on the wavca to-night! [Tho four poems printed above are bj W. M. Letts, a new Celtic Voice, con earning -whom we know nothing exceptinj that for sonic,time ho has been contributing fome fine lyrics to the London press The first three of our refactions are froir different issues of the "Westminstei Gazette." "Storm" is from the "Spec tator."]