Seest thou shadows sailing by, Hearest thou voices on the shore, Oh, thou child of many prayers! Like the swell of some sweet tune, May glides onward into June. Childhood is the bough, where slumbered Gather, then, each flower that grows, Bear a lily in thy hand; Gates of brass cannot withstand Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal And that smile, like sunshine dark many For a smile of God thou art. THE POTATO DIGGER'S SONG. THE POTATO DIGGER'S SONG. T. C. IRWIN. COME, Connal, acushla, turn the clay, With heaven's help, till rise of the moon. Thank God! and nothing, my boy, remains The peasant's mine is his harvest still; Work spade and hand, Work spade and hand Through the crumbly mould; The blessed fruit That grows at the root Of Ireland! Och! I wish that Maurice and Mary dear 361 Ah, then, Paddy O'Reardan, you thundering Turk, Is it coorting you are in the blessed noon ? Come over here, Katty, and mind your work, Or I'll see if your mother can't change your tune. Well-youth will be youth, as you know, Mick, And as love in this island lives mostly still Down the bridle road the neighbours ride, sheaves: And the children sing on the mountain side, In the sweet blue smoke of the burning leaves. As the great sun sets in glory furled, Faith, it's grand to think as I watch his faceIf he never sets on the English World, He never, lad, sets on the Irish Race. In the west, in the south, New Irelands still But look!-the round moon, yellow as corn, ma'am. Well-the heel of the evening to you, Come, girls, be alive;-boys, dig with a will:- FATHER O'FLynn. FATHER O'FLYNN. ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES. Or priests we can offer a charmin' variety, Here's a health to you, Father O'Flynn, Kindliest creature in ould Donegal. 363 Don't talk of your Provost and Fellows of Trinity, Into thayology, Troth! and conchology if he'd the call. CHORUS. Here's a health to you Father O'Flynn, Kindliest creature in ould Donegal. Och! Father O'Flynn, you've the wonderful way wid you, All ould sinners are wishful to pray wid you, Still for all you've so gentle a soul, Gad, you've your flock in the grandest control; Coaxin' onaisy ones, Liftin' the lazy ones on wid the stick. CHORUS. Here's a health to you, Father O'Flynn, Kindliest creature in ould Donegal. And though quite avoidin' all foolish frivolity, Where was the play-boy could claim an equality Once the bishop looked grave at your jest, All to the laity ? Cannot the clargy be Irishmen too ?" CHORUS. Here's a health to you, Father O'Flynn, Tinderest teacher, and Kindliest creature in ould Donegal. THE BLUE, BLUE SMOKE. ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES. Он, many and many a time When the chapel's distant chime Pealed the hour of evening praise, |