_In Tir-na’n-Og, In Tir-na’n-Og,_ He hath forgotten hill and glen where misty shadows gather, The bleating of the mountain sheep, the cabin of his father. _In Tir-na’n-Og, In Tir-na’n-Og,_ He wanders in a happy dream thro’ scented golden hours, He flutes, to woo a fairy love, knee deep in fairy flowers. _In Tir-na’n-Og, In Tir-na’n-Og,_ No memory hath he of my face, no sorrow for my sorrow, My flax is spun, my wheel is hushed, and so I wait the morrow. LADY DAY IN IRELAND BY P. J. CARROLL, C.S.C. Through the long August day, mantled blue with a sky of Our Lady, They are there at the well from the dawn till the sea birds go home; And the trees bending down with broad leaves offer spots that are shady, Where the heart is at rest, sighing prayers till the shadows are come. The brown beads and the crucifix pass in procession through fingers That are pale as the snow or are hardened from labor and pain. In each _Ave_ they whisper the deep Celtic tenderness lingers, Like a sweet phrase in song that is echoed and echoed again. Marching down the white road with the sun in the noon of his splendor Are the children, with joy in the blue of their innocent eyes; In their hearts is a song, breaking forth into words that are tender, Unto her with the gold of the stars and the blue of the skies. In the still summer air there’s a chorus of minstrelsy breaking, There are flashes of gold with a flutter and waving of wings: Mary’s birds are they, come with the dawn, all the green woods forsaking, Every heart in them breaking for love with the message it brings. Through the calm August day, with Our Lady’s blue sky far above them, And beyond the grey mountains where slumbers the Irish green sea, There they speak to her, weep while they pray to her, beg her to love them, Till beyond the bright stars where their home and their treasure shall be. ST. PATRICK’S TREASURE BY P. J. CARROLL, C.S.C. Called son by many lands, Thou art a father unto one. Of all these mothers claiming thee, By honored titles naming thee, We ask: Where is thy priceless birthright gone? That blessed faith of thine, They mothering thee have sold. But she, thy daughter dutiful, Has kept thy treasure beautiful Through many sorrows in her heart of gold. THE SPOUSE OF CHRIST BY D. A. CASEY He came to her from out eternal years, A smile upon His lips, a tender smile That, somehow, spoke of partings and of tears. ’Twas eventide, and silence brooded low On earth and sky--the hour when haunting fears Of mystery pursue us as we go.