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Show The Ballad of Father Gilligan. (By request.) The old priest, Peter Gilligan, Was weary night and clay; For half his flock were in their beds, Or under green sod lay. Once, while he nodded on a chair, At the moth-hour of eve. Another poor man sent for him, And he began to erieve. "I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace, For people die and die;" And after cried be: "God forgive! My body spake, not I!" And then, half lying on the chair, He knelt, prayed, fell asleep; And the moth-hour went from the fields, And stars began to peep. They slowly Into millions grew, And leaves shook in the wind; And God covered the world with shade, And whispered to mankind. Upon the time of sparrow chirp When the moths came once more, The old priest, Peter Gilligan, Stood upright on the floor. "Mavrone, Mavrone! the man has dipdf" While I slept on the chair;" He aroused his horse out of Its sleep, And rode with little care. He rode now as he never rode. By rocky lane and fen; The sick man's wife opened the door; "Father, you come again!" "And is the poor man dead-" he cried, "He died an hour ago." The old priest, Peter Gilligan, In grief swayed to and fro, "When you were gone he turned and died, As merry as a bird." The old priest, Peter Gilligan, He knelt him without a word, "He who hath made the night of stars For souls who tire and bleed, gent one of His great angels down To help me In my need, "He who la wrapped In purple robes, With planets In Hlg care. Had pity on the least of things Asleep upon a chair," W, S. Teats, |