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- THE BALLAD OF FATHER GILLIGAN
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- THE old priest Peter Gilligan
- Was weary night and day;
- For half his flock were in their beds,
- Or under green sods lay.
- Once, while he nodded on a chair,
- At the moth-hour of eve,
- Another poor man sent for him,
- And he began to grieve.
- "I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace,
- For people die and die';
- And after cried he, "God forgive!
- My body spake, not I!'
- He knelt, and leaning on the chair
- He prayed and fell asleep;
- And the moth-hour went from the fields,
- And stars began to peep.
- They slowly into millions grew,
- And leaves shook in the wind;
- And God covered the world with shade,
- And whispered to mankind.
- Upon the time of sparrow-chirp
- When the moths came once more.
- The old priest Peter Gilligan
- Stood upright on the floor.
- "Mavrone, mavrone! the man has died
- While I slept on the chair';
- He roused his horse out of its sleep,
- And rode with little care.
- He rode now as he never rode,
- By rocky lane and fen;
- The sick man's wife opened the door:
- "Father! you come again!"
- "And is the poor man dead?' he cried.
- "He died an hour ago.'
- The old priest Peter Gilligan
- In grief swayed to and fro.
- "When you were gone, he turned and died
- As merry as a bird.'
- The old priest Peter Gilligan
- He knelt him at that word.
- "He Who hath made the night of stars
- For souls who tire and bleed,
- Sent one of His great angels down
- To help me in my need.
- "He Who is wrapped in purple robes,
- With planets in His care,
- Had pity on the least of things
- Asleep upon a chair.'
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