"THE CHURCH OF BALLYMORE."

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XIX, Issue 27, 3 April 1891, Page 7

"THE CHURCH OF BALLYMORE."

(Fromtbe poems of Abthub M. Fobbrsteb.)

I have knelt in great Cathedrals with their wondrous naves and

aisles, Wh S8 fairy arches blend and interlace. Where the sunlight on the paintings like a ray of glory smiles,

And the shadows seem to sanctify the place. Where the organ's lones like echoes of an angel's trumpet roll,

Wafted do Au by serapD wmgs from heaven's shore — They are mighty and majestic, but they cannot touch my soul

Like the little whitewashed church of Ballymore. Ah 1 modest lit'le chapel, half embowered in the trees,

Though the roof above its worshippers was low, And the earth bore traces sometimes of the congregation's kneei,

While they themselves were bent with toil and woe ! Milan, Cologne, St. Peter's— by the feet of monarchs trod—

With their moaumental genius and their lore, Never knew in their magnificence more tru9tful prayers to Gbd

Than ascended to His holy throne from Ballymore. Its priest was plain and Bimple, and he scorned to hide his brogue

In accents that we might not understand, But there was not in the parish such a renegade or rogue As to think his words not heaven's own command 1

He seemed our cares and troubles and our sorrows to divide, And he never passed the poorest peasant's door— In sickness he was with us, and in death still by our side — God be with you, Father Tom, of Ballymore. There's a green graveyarJ behind it, and in dreams at night I see Bach little modest slab and grassy mound ; For my gentle mother's sleeping 'neath the withered rowan tree, And a host of kindly neighbours lie around 1 The famine and the fever through our stricken country spread, Desolatiou was about me, sad and sore, So I had to cross the waters and in strange lands to seek my bread, But I left my heart behind in Ballymore 1 I am proud of our Cathedrals — they are emblems of our love To an ever mighty Benefactor shown ; And when wealth, and art, and beauty have been given from above, The devil snould not have them as bis own 1

Their splendour bas inspired me — bat amidst it all I prayed God to grant me, when life's weary woik is o'er, Sweet rest beside my mother in the deai embracing shade Of the little whitewashed church of Ballymore !