AN APPEAL TO IRELAND

TTHE sin of our race is upon us,The pitiless, cruel disdainOf brother for brother, tho' coilingRound both is the one fatal chain;And aimless and reckless and uselessOur lives pass along to the graveIn tumults of words that bewilder,And the conflicts of slave with slave.

THE sin of our race is upon us,The pitiless, cruel disdainOf brother for brother, tho' coilingRound both is the one fatal chain;And aimless and reckless and uselessOur lives pass along to the graveIn tumults of words that bewilder,And the conflicts of slave with slave.

Yet shadows are heavy around us,The darkness of sin and of shame,While the souls of the Nation to slumberAre lulled by vain visions of fame;True hearts, passion-wasted, and breakingWith sense of our infinite wrong,Oh! wake them, nor dread the awaking,We need all the strength of the strong.

For we rage with senseless endeavoursIn a fever of wild unrest,While glory lies trampled, dishonoured,Death-pale, with a wound in her breast;Had we loosened one chain from the spirit,Had we strove from the ruin of thingsTo build up a Temple of Concord,More fair than the palace of Kings;

Our name might be heard where the NationsPress on to the van of the fight,Where Progress makes war upon Evil,And Darkness is scattered by Light.They have gold and frankincense and myrrhTo lay at the feet of their King,But we—what have we but the wine-cupOf wrath and of sorrow to bring?

Let us ask of our souls, lying underThe doom of this bondage and ban,Why we, made by God high as Angels,Should fall so much lower than man;Some indeed have been with us would scaleHeav'n's heights for life-fire if they dare—But the vultures now gnaw at their heartsEvermore on the rocks of Despair.

Let us think, when we stand before God,On the Day of the Judgment roll,And He asks of the work we have doneIn the strength of each God-like soul;Can we answer—"Our prayers have gone upAs light from the stars and the sun,And Thy blessing came down on our deedsAs a crown when the victory's won.

"We fought with wild beasts, wilder passions,As of old did the saints of God,Tho' our life-blood ran red in the dustOf the fierce arena we trod;We led up Thy people triumphantFrom Egypt's dark bondage of sin,And made the fair land which Thou gavestAll glorious without and within.

"We changed to a measure of musicThe discord and wail of her days.For sorrow gave garments of gladness,For scorn of her enemies praise.We crowned her a Queen in the triumphOf noble and beautiful lives,While her chariot of Freedom rolled onThrough the crash of her fallen gyves."

I ask of you, Princes, and Rulers,I ask of you, Brothers around,Can ye thus make reply for our peopleWhen the Nations are judged or crowned?If not, give the reins of the chariotTo men who can curb the wild steeds—They are nearing the gulf, in this hourWe appeal by our wrongs and our needs.

Stand back and give place to new leaders;We need them—some strong gifted souls,From whose lips, never touched by a falsehood,The heart's richest eloquence rolls.True Patriots by grandeur of purpose,True men by the power of the brain:The chosen of God to lift upwardHis Ark with hands clear of all stain.

We need them to tend the Lord's vineyard,As shepherds to watch round His fold,With brave words from pure hearts outpouring,As wine from a chalice of gold;That the souls of the Nation uplifted,May shine in new radiance of light,As of old stood the Prophets transfiguredIn glory with Christ on the height.

Far out, where the grand western sunsetsFlush crimson the mountain and sea,And the echoes of Liberty mingleWith the roar of the waves on the lea;Where over the dim shrouded passesThe clouds fling a rainbow-hued arch,And through giant-rent portals a peopleGo forth on their sad, solemn march:

I had dreams of a future of gloryFor this fair motherland of mine,When knowledge would bring with its splendoursThe Human more near the Divine.And as flash follows flash on the mountains,When lightnings and thunders are hurled,So would throb in electrical unionHer soul with the soul of the world.

For we stand too apart in our darkness,As planets long rent from the sun,And the mystical breath of the spiritScarce touches our hearts sweeping on.I appeal from this drear isolationTo earth, to the mountains, and sky—Must we die as of thirst in a desert,While full tides of life pass us by?

Yet still, through the darkness and sorrow,I dream of a time yet to be,When from mountain and ocean to HeavenWill rise up the Hymn of the Free.When our Country, made perfect through trial,White-robed, myrtle-crowned, as a Bride,Will stand forth, "a Lady of Kingdoms,"Through Light and through Love glorified.

FOOTNOTES

[1]"Kings—The Earthly Elohim."—Sir Thomas Browne.[2]Palmyra, or Tadmor.[3]On reading his Essay on the Collation of Certain Ancient Spanish Manuscripts, printed from the proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy.[4]Abdallah is known in history as "El triste Rey."[5]This taunt of the Sultana mother is related by Condé.[6]Lorc, or Lorcan, an ancient King of Munster, the grandfather of the great King Brian Boru.[7]This Irish poem, so pathetic and expressive in its simplicity, first appeared in theDublin University Magazine, in the Essay on "The Food of the Irish," by Sir William Wilde. It is quoted by him as "highly characteristic both of the feelings of the people and the extent of the calamity of that time; besides being a good specimen of the native poetry of the Irish more than a hundred years ago."[8]"Thoughts come again, convictions perpetuate themselves opportunities pass by irrecoverably."—Goethe.[9]Novgorod the Great.[10]Lithuania.

[1]"Kings—The Earthly Elohim."—Sir Thomas Browne.

[2]Palmyra, or Tadmor.

[3]On reading his Essay on the Collation of Certain Ancient Spanish Manuscripts, printed from the proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy.

[4]Abdallah is known in history as "El triste Rey."

[5]This taunt of the Sultana mother is related by Condé.

[6]Lorc, or Lorcan, an ancient King of Munster, the grandfather of the great King Brian Boru.

[7]This Irish poem, so pathetic and expressive in its simplicity, first appeared in theDublin University Magazine, in the Essay on "The Food of the Irish," by Sir William Wilde. It is quoted by him as "highly characteristic both of the feelings of the people and the extent of the calamity of that time; besides being a good specimen of the native poetry of the Irish more than a hundred years ago."

[8]"Thoughts come again, convictions perpetuate themselves opportunities pass by irrecoverably."—Goethe.

[9]Novgorod the Great.

[10]Lithuania.

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