Mananaan, great lord of Ocean--he whose fair domain outspread Wheresoever tides foam-flowered to the moon’s high mandate move, Aengus, clothed in youth immortal, on immortal ardors fed, Who of old in golden Brugh reigned lord of Love. And his name a knightly pennon on the ramparts of the world, And his fame a fire unfailing on Time’s utmost purple height, Erin’s peerless gage of courage to the vaunting ages hurled-- Sunward evermore Cuchulain holds his flight. They are coming with the silver speech of Erin on their lips; The speech that once of all the mighty Celtic race made kin, They are coming with the laughter that has known no age-eclipse, They are coming with the songs beloved of Finn. Yea, with gifts regenerating to all men of women born-- Flame of courage that shall fade not, flame of truth that shall not fail, To the music of a thousand harps they’re marching through the Morn, Deathless gods and kings and heroes of the Gael! AT BENEDICTION BY ELEANOR ROGERS COX Joy, beauty, awe, supremest worship blending In one long breath of perfect ecstasy, Song from our hearts to God’s own Heart ascending, The mortal merged in immortality. There, veiled beneath that sacramental whiteness, The wonder that all wonders doth transcend, The Word that kindled chaos into brightness, Our Lord, our God, our origin, our end. Light, light, a sea of light, unshored, supernal, Is all about our finite being spread, Deep, soundless waves of harmonies eternal Their balm celestial on our spirits shed. O Source of Life! O Fount of waters living! O Love, to whom all powers of mind and soul, We give, and find again within the giving, Of Thee renewed, made consecrate and whole. PRIMROSE HILL BY OLIVE CUSTANCE Wild heart in me that frets and grieves, Imprisoned here against your will ... Sad heart that dreams of rainbow wings ... See! I have found some golden things! The poplar trees on Primrose Hill With all their shining play of leaves ... And London like a silver bride, That will not put her veil aside! Proud London like a painted Queen, Whose crown is heavy on her head ... City of sorrow and desire, Under a sky of opal fire, Amber and amethyst and red ... And how divine the day has been! For every dawn God builds again This world of beauty and of pain.... Wild heart that hungers for delight, Imprisoned here against your will; Sad heart, so eager to be gay! Loving earth’s lovely things ... the play Of wind and leaves on Primrose Hill ... Or London dreaming of the night ... Adventurous heart, on beauty bent, That only Heaven could quite content! TWILIGHT BY OLIVE CUSTANCE