Ebb on with me across the sunset tide And float beyond the waters of the world, The light of evening slipping from my side, Thy softened voice in waves of silence furled. Flow on into the flaming morning wine, Drowning the land in color. Then on high Rise in thy candid innocence and shine Like to a poplar straight against the sky. EDWARD J. O’BRIEN IN MEMORIAM: FRANCIS LEDWIDGE (Killed in action, July 31, 1917) Soldier and singer of Erin, What may I fashion for thee? What garland of words or of flowers? Singer of sunlight and showers, The wind on the lea; Of clouds, and the houses of Erin, Wee cabins, white on the plain, And bright with the colours of even, Beauty of earth and of heaven Outspread beyond Slane! Slane, where the Easter of Patrick Flamed on the night of the Gael, Guard both the honor and story Of him who has died for the glory That crowns Innisfail. Soldier of right and of freedom, I offer thee song and not tears. With Brian, and Red Hugh O’Donnell, The chiefs of Tyrone and Tryconnell, Live on through the years! NORREYS JEPHSON O’CONOR EVENSONG A shepherd piping, herald of the Night Who comes with Silence up the coloured vale, Treading low gently, clad in greyish white, Poignantly piping, sound your reedy wail! For Day departed moves in funeral train Tended by Twilight and, in deepest rose, The splendid Sunset melts beneath the main While sweet the Sea-wind with cool softness blows. As when a mother gathers to her breast The child who frets for Dad’s remembered smart, Now Light fades quickly in the ashen west, And Night-Peace falls across my troubled heart. Flutes, for the night through let my mind be still, And God keep safe with Him my stubborn will! NORREYS JEPHSON O’CONOR THE PROPHET All day long he kept the sheep:— Far and early, from the crowd, On the hills from steep to steep, Where the silence cried aloud; And the shadow of the cloud Wrapt him in a noonday sleep. Where he dipped the water’s cool, Filling boyish hands from thence, Something breathed across the pool Stir of sweet enlightenments; And he drank, with thirsty sense, Till his heart was brimmed and full. Still, the hovering Voice unshed, And the Vision unbeheld, And the mute sky overhead, And his longing, still withheld! —Even when the two tears welled, Salt, upon that lonely bread. Vaguely blessed in the leaves, Dim-companioned in the sun, Eager mornings, wistful eyes, Very hunger drew him on; And To-morrow ever shone With the glow the sunset weaves. Even so, to that young heart, Words and hands and Men were dear; And the stir of lane and mart After daylong vigil here. Sunset called, and he drew near, Still to find his path apart. When the Bell, with gentle tongue, Called the herd-bells home again, Through the purple shades he swung, Down the mountain, through the glen; Towards the sound of fellow-men,— Even from the light that clung.