The Heralds Of The Gael

The topmost glory of a race is bound
Within the gleaming virtues of its sons.
Not by its carven gold shall it be crowned,
Nor best saluted by its monster guns.
Its crown shall be to fashion day by day
The stuff of greatness from its common clay.
Age upon age the worst that man could wreak
On fellow-man framed Ireland s hapless plight.
Freedom and learning yea, the right to speak
Were trodden under in her bitter fight.
Her head was bowed: her breast and feet were bare,
But mind unconquered held her from despair.
And when by random flashes gleamed a path
That led to lands with freedom s flag unfurled,
She rose amid the embers of her wrath
With poets, scholars, captains for the world,
And sent them forth to shame the broadcast lie
That Ireland's glories were to fade and die.
So from her common people rise revealed
The knightly heralds of the deathless Gael.
And lo, the boy who led the lambs afield
Becomes arch-shepherd by the chancel rail;
The lad who drove wild cattle to the fen
Commands wide armies in the wars of men.
Behold one, chosen of the free, to stand
Before the marble altar of the Law,
And lift the iron scales with steady hand,
And fearlessly the sword of Justice draw
To cut the nets the wrangling sophists throw,
And smite the malefactor high or low.
They carve great statues: marble minsters rear;
They sing new songs to touch a people s heart;
They lift our banner and our message bear
Where senates meet to trace a nation's chart,
And best when clearest in the soul and face.
We see the stamp and purpose of our race.