Faith of My Father
MARGARET McGOVERN
Swearing his age and festering leg
Robbed him of sights miraculous,
My Father raged. I heard him beg
That one of us, “one coal” of us,
Might lead him to the young priest’s grave.
Robbed him of sights miraculous,
My Father raged. I heard him beg
That one of us, “one coal” of us,
Might lead him to the young priest’s grave.
Our madman, who believed in things
Immortal, would not understand
Or grieve for men born underlings.
“Creatures!” he scorned. “Sure, God’s left hand
Behind Him all the worlds could save.
Immortal, would not understand
Or grieve for men born underlings.
“Creatures!” he scorned. “Sure, God’s left hand
Behind Him all the worlds could save.
“This little ball! Your sun and moon!
Every star in the heavens lit!
And seeing you, ye lifeless loon —
(The hawk eyes glared) “where is your wit?
Do you not know how to behave?”
Every star in the heavens lit!
And seeing you, ye lifeless loon —
(The hawk eyes glared) “where is your wit?
Do you not know how to behave?”
It was a dreamlike, death-cold day,
Since I had come from prison cold,
With bars to tell me how to pray
For death alone, still something tolled
From far away, so old, so brave . . .
Since I had come from prison cold,
With bars to tell me how to pray
For death alone, still something tolled
From far away, so old, so brave . . .
So we went forth. I took his arm
And held him upright on his knees
Beside the mound. He found no balm.
Great winds screamed icy threnodies
To skies of steel. No thing forgave.
And held him upright on his knees
Beside the mound. He found no balm.
Great winds screamed icy threnodies
To skies of steel. No thing forgave.
No vasty wonder was revealed.
As for his everlasting dream:
The young priest’s cure of men was sealed,
Immured forever it would seem,
Under the earth’s appalling nave.
As for his everlasting dream:
The young priest’s cure of men was sealed,
Immured forever it would seem,
Under the earth’s appalling nave.
On our way home the old man laughed,
Like a boy coming from a fair,
“Ah, did you see the poor soul daft?
Ah, the queer tinkers kneeling there!
You’d think them wanderers from a cave.
Like a boy coming from a fair,
“Ah, did you see the poor soul daft?
Ah, the queer tinkers kneeling there!
You’d think them wanderers from a cave.
“Make us a little song, asthore,
And I will say a rosary . . .
The road is long and my leg sore.
Sing an Ave that I may see
The throne of God. No more I crave.”
And I will say a rosary . . .
The road is long and my leg sore.
Sing an Ave that I may see
The throne of God. No more I crave.”
I could not sing, and by and by
I would have slept, but in that sleep
I heard his strange and lonely cry:
“Agraheen, sing! Our Lord will keep
Listening on high and hear no slave!”
I would have slept, but in that sleep
I heard his strange and lonely cry:
“Agraheen, sing! Our Lord will keep
Listening on high and hear no slave!”
But stranger still, the night he died,
When dark blood from his nostrils poured,
And my lost soul in anguish cried:
Light him a candle to his lord!
Thou of his childlike faith, O save!
When dark blood from his nostrils poured,
And my lost soul in anguish cried:
Light him a candle to his lord!
Thou of his childlike faith, O save!
Struck to my knees beside his bed,
I saw the dead hands seize and hold
A cross of Christ. And where it led,
I swear by all the seers of old,
Went upward in a blinding wave.
I saw the dead hands seize and hold
A cross of Christ. And where it led,
I swear by all the seers of old,
Went upward in a blinding wave.
And on his burial day so dim,
So deathly cold for early spring,
Now I could hear a distant hymn
Telling of God, a wondrous thing
Singing above my Father’s grave.
So deathly cold for early spring,
Now I could hear a distant hymn
Telling of God, a wondrous thing
Singing above my Father’s grave.