THE IRISH PRIEST BY 'TORY HILL -^i!*^ THE IRISH PRIEST BY "TORY HILL" Dedicated by permission to his Eminence CARDINAL GIBBONS Extract from his letter to the author: "in return I am pleased to inform you that the desired permission is heartily granted. I recommend it especially to priests of Irish Nationality."' Faithtully yours in Christ, (Signed) J. CARD. GIBBONS. portland, conn. : Middlesex County Printery. igoS. ruBKARYotOON(ir;£53 ! TwoCoDlo" Kec^!».« I MAR 31 1^08 ] Oopyni^i" envy DEDICATION Ye sons of men who labor on the earth Consigned to lowly state from hour of birth And earn a livlihood from honest toil By God's decree your lot is that ot moil Have faith in Him, be just, you'll gain reward He rules with justice. He's the Supreme Lord Whate'er befalls unto the bitter end His church will ever be the poor man's friend Its ruler with his councillors of state Will e'er condemn injustice of the great Amongst whom scarce ever has been one Who confidence of toilers has so won Or with more honor has the purple bore Than Gibbons who ix)w rules at Baltimore With due respect, so now I gladly state This little poem to him 1 now dictate. TORY HILL Copyrighted 1007 by MARGARET WALSH. THE IRl^H PRIEST. Some years ago I went to Erin's Isle And rested there for just a little while My purpose was conditions to observe And in my memory careful them preserve The scenery, the people and the laws The forces that sustain the national cause 'Mid these is one and not indeed the least That holy man, the humble Irish priest Of him I think and then my heart will glow His equal on this earth I do not know Then hear what now of him I am to say A tribute well deserved I mean to pay So many virtues in his soul contend His heart so great he is of all the friend The taint of sin to his pure mind uuknown He seems a saint on earth as now I own The people ever had one friend at least To them devoted heart and soul the priest There blood was his— he knew their hopes and fears And strove to heal their wounds to dry their tears. So saintly just he only sought the right To win them justice was his sole delight No better truer friend on earth e'er trod Than this kind priest "the perfect man of God" His look, his mien, his brow is ever mild He's meek and tender as the little child The words of truth in every place he speaks To each who from his lips true wisdom seeks Skilled in the problems made so long before He knew the dogmas of profoundest lore He taught so well the aged and the youth The saving faith— yea— God's eternal truth Self-sacrificing always for the poor He sought them in their hovels on the moor In their esteem no one can him replace 4 THE IRISH PRIEST. With his sweet smile and his angelic face. Be sure I do not praise him over much A happy feeling soothes one at his touch His shadow does the sick their health procure As Peter— says the Gospel— thus did cure The light of heaven does around him shine A thousand noble traits in him combine That he is holy, this I need not say, His every word and act will it display. Yea! he is gifted with such sacred power That he may heaven's grace upon men shower And yet no matter what he may possess 'Tis not himself but others he will bless Redemption's fruit dispense he ever would Like Christ he "goes around but doing good." He often rose so early in the morn To seek unseen the sad and the forlorn Careful had been that none should ever see The many gifts he gave in charity When dire distress lay brooding o'er the land The souper sneaking thief with smile so bland And words of promise false, but still so sweet Would make him barter faith for bread and meat When pangs of hunger gnawed their hearts away These serpents would the peasants then betray Then did these agents from the depths of hell Try to seduce poor souls by means so fell A glorious birthright— fainting Esau sold The famine— dying their faith should sell for gold Or no relief could find, but did they bow To the reformed creed the grass of cow And plot of land was given seldom taken They ne'er betray their faith for fltch of bacon Against these agents of the prince of lies He strove and showed them in their horrid guise 'Gainst methods low and schemes so base and vile Which would the members of his flock defile He watched and prayed, he labored and he strove THE IRISH PRIEST. 5 To break the snares these tempters round thenr wrove Some wretch a "turncoat" became through sloth Apostatised from his baptismal oath And tramped under foot his ancient faith This crime among that people was so great 'Twas strange that not one Sunday e'er could pass But found him kneeling prostrate hearing mass Till minister of the heretic creed Upbraided him— aye— with a fiendish greed Pray tell me, Pat, if this can now be true A convert stout I thought I made of you What means it then this news of you I hear At Romish church at Sabbath you appear? Behold the culprit how he'll scratch his head For now his soul is filled with awful dread *' I go to mass for good of my poor soul For grass of cow to meeting then I stroll." This was Patrick's the pervert's keen reply Ah! what sly humor then danced in his eye While hunger lasts he is a Protestant When stomach's full how quickly he'll recant This well recalls of Judas what is told The wretched miser sold his God for gold Such schemes were planned by Luther's wretched brood To win the starving by a dole of food And make them barter heaven's treasure great That they might pangs of hunger satiate Betray the faith for which their sires had died Beneath the sword and tyrants thus defied But one who fell a victim to their schemes Can't rest in death in Irish soil it seems Perhaps his soul in hour of death did save The cows at night tore up his tainted grave His labor always fired the demon's wrath Who sought to strew sin's snares in his flock's path He would remove these ills and bring them peace And when success was won but then did cease He probes the depths with glance so keen but kind 6 THE IRISH PRIEST. Thus all that's wrong with soul he'll surely find Which when he freed from Satan's deadly grasp With bonds of heaven's love he did them clasp But while in danger wistful was his look To win with warning voice all pains he took His eyes like pools of unforgotten sorrow His saintly glance will gladness from all borrow For one he's lived, for Him he would have died The object of his love— the Crucified This was the prize for which he ever sought For this alone both day and night he wrought How notably the soul religion fires How unsurpassed the feelings it inspires Ah! what the throbbings such a heart must feel This worthy priest with his good-shepherd zeal From human gaze withdrawn he longs to be But angels will record his charity How oft a price was placed upon his head Most gladly, for their souls his blood he'd shed The little stainless lambkins of the fold All these did he strive to garner for the Lord Successful labor brought its own reward A vintage glorious bloomed for heaven when They virtuous grew as women pure and men He is no cynic with a scornful pride And hence the lowly poor will not deride When stain of sin was marked upon the soul To fault efface and make them win the goal He ever strove, nor ceased till the last breath Found each one ready then to meet with death His love for them what honor to himself Was ne'er inspired by wish for any pelf Sublime the course of life which he pursues Unheeding what may be the worldly views Those fiends of hell— earth's tyrants— he'd defy And for the faith he taught would proudly die Such graces come to him as dew at even *Tor he that hath to him it shall be given'' THE IRISH PRIEST. And nought on earth his powers can now confine He is to men the messenger divine So near is God to him Ah! who can tell For of this world his absence makes a hell No boast from out his lips is ever heard For innocence to knowledge he preferred To win the souls his precious blood had bought Against the powers of hell he ever fought Though many hours he poured upon his books Yet faithful guardian over all he looks Each day good deeds he does till setting sun As darkness falls all daily duties done At altar prone he often sees a light As Moses once upon great Horeb's height So, too, as if on Nebo he did rest God opes to him a vision of the blest He influences the race as moral yeast This saint on earth— the holy Irish priest. Upon his sacred powers they so rely The bread of angels he'll to them supply Much does he plan their sorrows to forestall Both day and night so prompt at every call Unto the bedside did he hasten quick When he was warned anyone lay sick With genial smile he entered at the door True consolation on their hearts did pour The peace of heaven glows in his sweet smile His kindly words their sorrows soon beguile His presence always cheers the peasants cot Who scarce can hope, so bitter is their lot Their love, respect and confidence does win On virtue's path he leads them, free from sin. If in death's throes he found that they were lying With heaven's grace he fortified the dying Unto the soul he gave supernal peace And watched and prayed until this life did cease The soul he then unto it's God resigned And blessed the corpse e'er to the earth consigned. 8 THE IRISH PRIEST. His soul well stored from out patristic page His mind thus held the learning of each age In every move 'gainst unjust laws or kings Strong for the right, his clarion voice it rings To gain success while striving for the rights Their leader true— the people he unites. The little lambs who wandered through the fold In his embrace he gently did enfold The guilty sheep that from the flock had strayed He sought, restored in innocence arrayed He did in Master's footsteps ever tread And by His sacred teachings was he led The unjust rich he chode in terms strong That they should cease— no more to do the wrong And from rebukings stern he ne'er abstains Until they had restored ill-gotten gains For them as for the poor is but one code To heaven reach, must walk the narrow road He councilled peace while urging poor man's rights And he alone restrained from bloody fights So tender, patient, kind, in nought severe Or only when the guilty would not hear His warning voice, and leave the sinful course This always he denounced in hard discourse But the poor maid who robbed of all had been That women prize and makes of each a queen Above the world— from her he'd wipe the stain And make her like the lily once again He knew the crafty demons never sleep But seek e'er to decoy unwary sheep To lead to virtue strive he ever would His flock, and keep them always pure and good Such was the mission that he sought to fill To act as the ''good shepherd " was his will And he forever aimed at highest goals In all his work he only sought for souls Kind were the methods that he always planned Thus seemed to guide and lead, not to command THE IRISH PRIEST. In council wise unyielding as the rock If evil threatened ruin to his flock That he was saintly all the people knew Goodness and virtue ever did pursue When bowed by trials their hearts he would upraise Their wants his care, unheeding worldly praise With kindest glance their hardships he surveys Oft on his knees to God for them he prays Where'er he moves such peace and joy then reign His touch benign relieves their hearts from pain Of one so good, so pure, none ever wrote No verses in his favor can we quote Unknown to men his godly life pursues The calls of duty never will refuse Perhaps he's summoned to the fevered bed With joy he goes uninfluenced by dread To sin expel, the heart inspire with hope And with the evil one in fight to cope To conquer hell— this is his happy boast With power divine he bears the Sacred Host When devils tempt poor men in sin to fall And with their snares unhappy souls enthrall He gives thern strength and courage for the fight And thus they triumph for the God of right So e'en the worst to save he ne'er disponds His absolution breaking all their bonds With love his heart is full in richest store And heaven's favor brings to every door His soul was sad whenever he did see The poor amid his flock in misery Much good he did this no one can gainsay On virtue's path he treads both night and day His deeds, his prayers such blessings on all drew That fall on souls just like kind heaven's dew The enemy he changed into a friend And brought all discords to a happy end The thief he made restore ill-gotten goods His watchful eye kept outlaws in the woods lo THE IRISH PRIEST. His secret deeds of goodness none can tell And God alone the souls he saved from hell Blest charity was given at his door Who was in want had no need to implore The beggar old, perhaps from hunger faint, To him alone did make his sad complaint The more he gave more plenteous store had still Perhaps some spirit from on high did fill The little box that he might always give Unto the poor as long as he did live The crowd of vagrants passing on the road All found relief within his sweet abode Well known was he to all such outcast there Devout and humble holy man of prayer Perhaps it was that sometimes he did chide When by his teachings they did not abide What pity for the bad and sinful few Whom conscience to his kindly presence drew "Depart in peace " 'twas thus his Master said While they invoked God's blessings on his head So pure he'd always been in heart and mind Hence none more fit than he to lead mankind Who if his teachings they did not disown Would find themselves at death near heaven's throne No need to speak of ages that are past When persecution raged in fiercest blast He often in the pale light of the moon Came to their homes, beloved Soggarth Aroon To cleanse their souls, their aching hearts to cheer The greater danger made him still more dear Where crime was done his power worked as the leaven To purify and fit their souls for heaven To him the little ones were always dear And clustered round him pressing to get near 'Torbid them not" how sweet it was to see Those childish lambs thus clinging to his knee And as a mother with a fond caress Unto his saintly bosom them he'd press THE IRISH PRIEST. * ii Their fondest love to him was freely given While this to win all else in vain had striven With those in years more serious was his mood Reserved in mien revered as Holy Rood His dignity and holiness restrain From anything unworthy all refrain The vilest tongue his virtues would disarm Unstained his life no one could do him harm His duty was the morals to inspect Of old and young, the erring to correct, The good uphold, the fallen ones to raise Of him their voice did oft resound in praise When on the bed of sickness they had lain His prayer and blessing oft relieved their pain Much consolation then he would impart Suffering ever touched his tender heart Endeared to them was he by many ties His loss they mourn, with bitter signs and tears And as he stood beside the bed of death Such hope he gave to each ere the last breath 'Twas thus he spoke of Jesus Saviour kind The sinner from that heart would mercy find To all their wishes cheerily did respond And raise their thoughts to worlds that lay beyond That Blessed Name dread satan would defy Then strong in hope the patient longed to die The good he did scarce angel's pen can trace Freed souls from sin by means of heavenly Grace Relieved their wants from out his scanty store And for his aid they ne'er in vain implore Upon the sinful course he called a halt While gently he forgives the greatest fault With sympathy the kind man's breast is riven Who asks for pardon quickly is forgiven To leave the ways of sin who had the mind The best of friends in him did ever find Forgiveness when from him they once had craven He leads them then upon the path to heaven 12 THE IRISH PRIEST. The poor and needy his beneficience knew And in their wants to him they quickly flew Right well they felt no need his bounty crave Ere they could ask, in charity he gave Amid the tempters wiles he safely trod Helped by their prayers— this holy man of God And on his guidance ever they'd depend But ah! he always is the poor man's friend For when such wretched souls with sorrow burn With confidence to him their hearts will turn And as the child to mother in affright Then clings unto her bosom still more tight So too the poor in their most bitter hour Will only wish to feel his sacred power Full well they know when this good man is near His words of wisdom will their sadness cheer The stricken heart to him is ever drawn He lights the gloom as soft as early dawn He pours the oil of gladness on the soul When crushed with grief, and soon will make it whole As full of sweetness as the roses pod He sheds a peace that surely comes from God And hence the poor to him have e'er been true And so his death they bitterly would rue Against the tyrant steadfast has he stood And hence for him they'd gladly shed their blood Far from their souls he'd every pang remove With patience would he mildly them reprove He ever shares their sorrows and their joys Their drooping spirits with kind hand he buoys Our future fate no one on earth can tell He speaks the truth, it must be heaven or hell ' Despite the fruit of Calvary's cross still some Will feel the vengeance of the wrath to come He e'er has hopes that God at last will bless His labors to relieve their sad distress The wicked who provoked the wrath divine With tender pity leads to mercy's shrine THE IRISH PRIEST. ''Advise, entreat, rebuke,'' with patience still For such he knows to be the Saviour's will Yea, for the sinful he would give his life That not one soul might perish in the strife Alas! alas! that doom since Adam fell Has been for some a just eternal hell He tells them that sweet mercy will be found When heartfelt cries to heaven's gates resound And if he knew God's angry threat was sent Like Moses prayed until He did relent Prepared is he good cause to advocate And plead for justice with the men of state With wise forethought he often did propose To stem the torrent of the people's woes To poor dispensed with liberal hand the food His was the joy of simply "doing good'' Like the widow of Serepta nought did fail To him who oft the hungry did regale For as he gave suppHes from out the ''till" Some generous heart— yes— it did always fill Afflicted 's cause and right of poor maintains And when he can true justice he obtains To right all things is the divine behest Who'll place on high the lowly and distressed The great of earth upon the poor may frown The Lord he raiseth them who are bowed down The poor if they are righteous loveth He On glorious thrones above their place shall be While here the guilty may have great renown The wicked ways He " turneth upside down " He binds the wounds of every bleeding heart And bids all sorrow from the good depart One only seer, Elias, then did stand Against the hosts of Bael in all the land Such was the Irish priest in famine times Against Hell's minions who'd lead souls to crimes How oft' he stood beside the bed of death To purify the soul ere the last breath 14 THE IRISH PRIEST. His power divine holds all things in control That might bar Heaven to the struggling soul The demons snare that fills all with affright He quickly breaks and gives them true delight And should cruel Satan different guilt combine He'll all efface by means of grave divine Should numerous sins bring darkness as of night His pardon floods the soul with Heaven's light No longer without guide has it to grope For in the sky now shines the star of hope He points aloft for promise has been given That souls repentant, surely go to Heaven With countenance serene before them stood To speak to them of God— the only good And raise their thoughts to Heaven o'er the skies Which is for human beings the glorious prize The truths he taught enlighten every heart And joy and peace and grace to them impart His speech so plain some swayed that throng among With power and logic of his silvery tongue To good pursue he thus the laggard spurred With force and magic of his earnest word For he was truly candid and sincere They loved him so— his every word revere For God and truth he at their head engaged Fierce was the war for moral good he waged Against those who trampled on God's laws He strove and won them to his holy cause And all his teachings gladly they accept To him so true, the laws of God they kept 'Gainst threat of tyrants, promise proud they'd give To die or keep the faith while they did live Or shed the blood of an heroic heart And often nobly played the martyrs' part 'Gain and again the might of Hell assails These heroes die, their faith it never fails The greatest proof of love that man can give His life they sacrificed that faith might live THE IRISH PRIEST. 15 Of church the blood of martyrs is the seed For God and faith the Irish proudly bleed But they have triumphed o'er the tyrants' might And fertilized in blood their faith is bright For with that valiant hero at their head They met all tortures brave and without dread Their teacher ever was the first to die With his example they did death defy 'Till Erin's plains were purpled red and gory By Saints who winged their flight to God in Glory Where now they reign and from their thrones look down On those they love and pray they'll win the crown In their Masters' foot-steps have they stood To give their lives for what they knew was good Their sacrifice has brought the true reward To reign triumphant with the Supreme Lord. Of angry threats the old law was the fount His gospel is "the sermon on the mount" A vengeance just on men for crime was poured The law of love and mercy Christ restored And in his steps this holy priest does tread While people invoke blessings on his head Like Israelites, rebel if they should dare Once more for them he pardon wins by prayer To him are given visions as of Thabor A recompense so sweet for all his labor Too wise— he ne'er gave credence to a fable Too holy— shunned the curses of Mount Ebal The people say when seeing this shepherd's rod "Yea, now we know you are the man of God " As if omnipotent his touch would heal His heart was e'er responsive to appeal Of agency divine he was the tool To cure diseases as Bethsaida'spool Where'er he moved a healing virtue shed At his command the baffled demons fled The Savior bid the blind to Siloe go This priest will nought impose but cure bestow 1 6 THE IRISH PRIEST. So he did never vengeance tipify But love and mercy from the Lord on high His countenance o'ercast with grace divine Is seen with heaven's kindly light to shine His benediction often he imparts Like balm of Gilead upon their hearts If sin like fiery serpents did them sting Supernal cure unto their souls he'd bring When wounded by the demon's poisoned dart At his command cursed satan did depart Bowed down with years and weary from the strife Comes to an end his peaceful happy life The cares of earth aside he now will toss With confidence he turns unto the cross Beneath whose shadow e'er he did abide Repentant gaze cast on the wounded side The things of earth he always held as dross He has not much, his death's the peoples loss Great was his worth, and this they now deplore Laid in the grave, they'll see his face no more Much loved was he and ne'er inspiring fear And when he's gone, his memory still is dear So when in death at last he closed his eyes Their hearts were pierced and piteous were their cries But while they felt that he had won the goal Their fervent prayers were offered for his soul Beside the altar there his bones now rest In glory— yea— he reigneth with the blest Perhaps the muse benign, some influence shed With magic wings she hovered o'er my head And took my spirit through Parnassus grove This theme beneath her inspiration wove To think on poor man's wrongs my heart it gnaws These would I right — not seek man's loud applause And let us hope as God above doth reign •That justice to that land will come again For this they strive— so pray that Being on high Whom earth or hell too long cannot defy. 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