PATRICK SANG THIS

May Thy holy angels, O Christ, son of living God, Guard our sleep, our rest, our shining bed.

Let them reveal true visions to us in our sleep, O high-prince of the universe, O great king of the mysteries!

May no demons, no ill, no calamity or terrifying dreams Disturb our rest, our willing, prompt repose.

May our watch be holy, our work, our task, Our sleep, our rest without let, without break.

PATRICK'S BLESSING ON MUNSTER

God's blessing upon Munster, Men, women, children! A blessing on the land Which gives them fruit!

A blessing on every wealth Which is brought forth on their marches! No one to be in want of help: God's blessing upon Munster!

A blessing on their peaks, On their bare flagstones, A blessing on their glens, A blessing on their ridges!

Like sand of sea under ships Be the number of their hearths: On slopes, on plains, On mountain-sides, on peaks.

THE HERMIT'S SONG

I wish, O Son of the living God, O ancient, eternal King, For a hidden little hut in the wilderness that it may be my dwelling.

An all-grey lithe little lark to be by its side, A clear pool to wash away sins through the grace of the Holy Spirit.

Quite near, a beautiful wood around it on every side, To nurse many-voiced birds, hiding it with its shelter.

A southern aspect for warmth, a little brook across its floor, A choice land with many gracious gifts such as be good for every plant.

A few men of sense--we will tell their number-- Humble and obedient, to pray to the King:--

Four times three, three times four, fit for every need, Twice six in the church, both north and south:--

Six pairs besides myself, Praying for ever the King who makes the sun shine.

A pleasant church and with the linen altar-cloth, a dwelling for God from Heaven; Then, shining candles above the pure white Scriptures.

One house for all to go to for the care of the body, Without ribaldry, without boasting, without thought of evil.

This is the husbandry I would take, I would choose, and will not hide it: Fragrant leek, hens, salmon, trout, bees.

Raiment and food enough for me from the King of fair fame, And I to be sitting for a while praying God in every place.

A PRAYER TO THE VIRGIN

Gentle Mary, noble maiden, give us help! Shrine of our Lord's body, casket of the mysteries!

Queen of queens, pure holy maiden, Pray for us that our wretched transgression be forgiven for Thy sake.

Merciful one, forgiving one, with the grace of the Holy Spirit, Pray with us the true-judging King of the goodly ambrosial clan.

Branch of Jesse's tree in the beauteous hazel-wood, Pray for me until I obtain forgiveness of my foul sins.

Mary, splendid diadem, Thou that hast saved our race, Glorious noble torch, orchard of Kings!

Brilliant one, transplendent one, with the deed of pure chastity, Fair golden illumined ark, holy daughter from Heaven!

Mother of righteousness, Thou that excellest all else, Pray with me Thy first-born to save me on the day of Doom.

Noble rare star, tree under blossom, Powerful choice lamp, sun that warmeth every one.

Ladder of the great track by which every saint ascends, Mayst Thou be our safeguard towards the glorious Kingdom.

Fair fragrant seat chosen by the King, The noble guest who was in Thy womb three times three months.

Glorious royal porch through which He was incarnated, The splendid chosen sun, Jesus, Son of the living God.

For the sake of the fair babe that was conceived in Thy womb, For the sake of the holy child that is High-King in every place,

For the sake of His cross that is higher than any cross, For the sake of His burial when He was buried in a stone-tomb,

For the sake of His resurrection when He arose before every one, For the sake of the holy household from every place to Doom,

Be Thou our safeguard in the Kingdom of the good Lord, That we may meet with dear Jesus--that is our prayer--hail!

EVE'S LAMENT

I am Eve, great Adam's wife, 'Tis I that outraged Jesus of old; 'Tis I that robbed my children of Heaven, By rights 'tis I that should have gone upon the cross.

I had a kingly house to please me, Grievous the evil choice that disgraced me, Grievous the wicked advice that withered me! Alas! my hand is not pure.

'Tis I that plucked the apple, Which went across my gullet: So long as they endure in the light of day, So long women will not cease from folly.

There would be no ice in any place, There would be no glistening windy winter, There would be no hell, there would be no sorrow, There would be no fear, if it were not for me.

ON THE FLIGHTINESS OF THOUGHT

Shame to my thoughts, how they stray from me! I fear great danger from it on the day of eternal Doom.

During the psalms they wander on a path that is not right: They fash, they fret, they misbehave before the eyes of great God.

Through eager crowds, through companies of wanton women, Through woods, through cities--swifter they are than the wind.

Now through paths of loveliness, anon of riotous shame!

Without a ferry or ever missing a step they go across every sea: Swiftly they leap in one bound from earth to heaven.

They run a race of folly anear and afar: After a course of giddiness they return to their home.

Though one should try to bind them or put shackles on their feet, They are neither constant nor mindful to take a spell of rest.

Neither sword-edge nor crack of whip will keep them down strongly: As slippery as an eel's tail they glide out of my grasp.

Neither lock nor firm-vaulted dungeon nor any fetter on earth, Stronghold nor sea nor bleak fastness restrains them from their course.

O beloved truly chaste Christ to whom every eye is clear, May the grace of the seven-fold Spirit come to keep them, to check them!

Rule this heart of mine, O dread God of the elements, That Thou mayst be my love, that I may do Thy will.

That I may reach Christ with His chosen companions, that we may be together! They are neither fickle nor inconstant--not as I am.

TO CRINOG

Crinog, melodious is your song. Though young no more you are still bashful. We two grew up together in Niall's northern land, When we used to sleep together in tranquil slumber.

That was my age when you slept with me, O peerless lady of pleasant wisdom: A pure-hearted youth, lovely without a flaw, A gentle boy of seven sweet years.

We lived in the great world of Banva[13] Without sullying soul or body, My flashing eye full of love for you, Like a poor innocent untempted by evil.

Your just counsel is ever ready, Wherever we are we seek it: To love your penetrating wisdom is better Than glib discourse with a king.

Since then you have slept with four men after me, Without folly or falling away: I know, I hear it on all sides, You are pure, without sin from man.

At last, after weary wanderings, You have come to me again, Darkness of age has settled on your face: Sinless your life draws near its end.

You are still dear to me, faultless one, You shall have welcome from me without stint; You will not let us be drowned in torment: We will earnestly practise devotion with you.

The lasting world is full of your fame, Far and wide you have wandered on every track: If every day we followed your ways, We should come safe into the presence of dread God.

You leave an example and a bequest To every one in this world, You have taught us by your life: Earnest prayer to God is no fallacy.

Then may God grant us peace and happiness! May the countenance of the King Shine brightly upon us When we leave behind us our withered bodies.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 13: A name for Ireland.]

THE DEVIL'S TRIBUTE TO MOLING

Once as Moling was praying in his church he saw a man coming in to him. Purple raiment he wore and a distinguished form had he. 'Well met, cleric!' says he. 'Amen!' says Moling. 'Why dost thou not salute me?' says the man. 'Who art thou?' says Moling. 'I am Christ, the Son of God,' he answers. 'I do not know that,' says Moling. 'When Christ used to come to converse with God's servants, 'twas not in purple or with royal pomp he would come, but in the shape of a leper.' 'Then dost thou not believe in me?' says the man. 'Whom dost thou suppose to be here?' 'I suppose,' says Moling, 'that it is the Devil for my hurt.' 'Thy unbelief will be ill for thee,' says the man. 'Well,' says Moling, raising the Gospel, 'here is thy successor, the Gospel of Christ.' 'Raise it not, cleric!' says the Devil; 'it is as thou thinkest: I am the man of tribulations.' 'Wherefore hast thou come?' says Moling. 'That thou mayst bestow a blessing upon me.' 'I will not bestow it,' says Moling, 'for thou dost not deserve it. Besides, what good could it do thee?' 'If,' says the Devil, 'thou shouldst go into a tub of honey and bathe therein with thy raiment on, its odour would remain upon thee unless the raiment were washed.' 'How would that affect thee?' asks Moling. 'Because, though thy blessing do nought else to me, its good luck and its virtue and its blossom will be on me externally.' 'Thou shalt not have it,' says Moling, 'for thou deservest it not.' 'Well,' said the Devil, 'then bestow the full of a curse on me.' 'What good were that to thee?' asks Moling. 'The venom and the hurt of the curse will be on the lips from which it will come.' 'Go,' says Moling; 'thou hast no right to a blessing.' 'Better were it for me that I had. How shall I earn it?' 'By service to God,' says Moling. 'Woe is me!' says the Devil, 'I cannot bring it.' 'Even a trifle of study.' 'Thine own study is not greater, and yet it helps me not.' 'Fasting, then,' says Moling. 'I have been fasting since the beginning of the world, and not the better thereof am I.' 'Making genuflexions,' says Moling. 'I cannot bend forward,' says the Devil, 'for backwards are my knees.' 'Go forth,' says Moling; 'I cannot teach thee nor help thee.' Then the Devil said: