Part 5

A lonely Man, beneath the trees, That stoop above a sward of garden-ground, Kneels in the evening breeze, Felt as flow without a sound. While He kneels in that cool place, With the moonlight settled on His face, He is praying that He may not drink Of a Cup filled bitter to the brink, Praying in His anguish not to drink. And, in strife tremendous Of woe stupendous, He strains with power so great-- As a red pomegranate That splits and bleeds His head With blood is scarlet-red. He struggles with the might Of the world’s sin in sight, That He must bear if now He bends ensanguined brow, And drinks that awful Cup Before his eyes raised up. Sin!--us He meets the shock, Earth reddens to its rock With blood.... Then peace from storm Comes to that ruddy Form, And a brave word of God Blows over the wet sod-- “If I must drink, not mine, My will, O Father, thine Be done! Not mine, Thy Will!” The garden-shades thereafter grew more still, Because an angel came, And the red forehead whitened in his flame. This was the fairest sight God ever looked upon-- Jesus, His loved, only-begotten Son, Obedient to Him As sworded Cherubim.

TRANSIT

_Cloud that streams its breath of unseen flowers, Cloud with spice of bay, Of roses, lily-breathings, and the powers Of small violets, or, aloft, black poplars as they quiver!_

_Cloud that streams its song of birds--no bird Seen to chant the song: Yet wide and keen as sun-breath it is heard, All the air itself a voice of voices chiming golden!_

_Mary hath passed by. All plants sweet-leaved, Sweet-flowered; birds, sweet-voiced, Round her passing have their sweetness weaved. Let us yield our incense up, our anthems and our homage!_

SOME OF THESE POEMS HAVE BEEN PUBLISHED IN “THE IRISH MONTHLY” AND IN “THE ROSARY.” ONE WAS PUBLISHED IN “THE UNIVERSE.”

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