But I found no enemy, No man in a world of wrong, That Christ’s word of Charity Did not render clean and strong-- Who was I to judge my kind, Blindest groper of the blind? God to you may give the sight And the clear undoubting strength Wars to knit for single right, Freedom’s war to knit at length, And to win, through wrath and strife, To the sequel of my life. But for you, so small and young, Born on Saint Cecilia’s Day, I in more harmonious song Now for nearer joys should pray-- Simple joys: the natural growth Of your childhood and your youth, Courage, innocence and truth: These for you, so small and young, In your hand and heart and tongue. RESIGNATION BY SEUMAS MACMANUS Be still, sad soul, be still, Bend you to Heaven’s high will. When the toilsome race is run, And the summit strove for won-- When secrets are unsealed, All hidden things revealed, All mysteries made known, The good we doubted shown, Vexed questionings at rest, I’ll say, “Well, God knew best.” * * * * * Me thought you went full soon, In the rapture of the noon, In the glory of the sun, Your noble work begun-- In your grasp the magic wand That would raise a stricken land-- A while you fain would stay; But the call brooked no delay: You sighed, and bowed your head, And they put you with the dead. Our God is kind, and He Will blunt the shaft to me; Will stay the dripping woe Ere the chalice overflow; May let me end the race With the high sun on my face, And the hot blood bounding free, Through the beating veins of me. At most but some sad hours And He’ll call me when Night lowers. Oh, at the Trysting Gate, With radiant face you’ll wait! With arms in love outspread To take a weary head, And clasp it to your breast Where always it found rest. You’ll speak no word for joy, But, crooning o’er your boy, Draw him into the Light, Where nevermore comes Night. IN DARK HOUR BY SEUMAS MACMANUS I Turn my steps where the Lonely Road Winds far as the eye can see, And I bend my back for the burden sore That God has reached down to me. I have said farewell to the sun-kissed plains, To joy I gave good-bye; Now the bleak wide wastes of the world are mine, And the winds that wail in the sky. No bright flower blooms, no sweet bird calls, Nor hermit ever abode, Not a green thing lifts one lowly leaf, O God, on the Lonely Road! The thick dank mists come stealing down, And press me on every side. With never a voice to cheer me on, And never a hand to guide.