The Catholic Press 1st February, 1934 p8
ST. BRIGID.
Photo:EO’D
St. Brlgid is the mother, all men know,
Of Erin’s nuns that have been, or shall be,
From great St. Patrick’s time to that last day
When Christ returns to judge the world by flre.
‘Twas summer eve; upon a grassy plain
She sat, and by her side a fair blind nun,
Of them that followed her, and loved her rule,
And sung her nocturn psalms. They spake of God.
The wonder of His dread inscrutable Being
Round all, o’er all, in all; the wonder next
That man, so slight a thing, can move His love,
Can love Him, can obey; the marvel last
Of God made Man; the infinite in greatness
By infinite descent a creature made,
Perchance within the least of peopled worlds,
For saving of all worlds.
The Sun went down;
Full faced the moon uprose; the night wind sighed,
It broke not their discourse. The dawn returned;
It flushed the clouds; it fired the forest’s roof;
It laughed on distant streams.
St. Brigid gazed upon that dawn; a thought
Keen as a lance transfixed her heart; she mused,
‘Alas, this poor blind sister sees it not!’
She clasped that sister’s hand, she raised, she kissed it;
That blessed one spake: ‘Why weepest thou, mother mine?
Thy tears are on my hand.’ The Saint replied:
‘I weep because thou canst not see the dawn
Nor in it God’s great glory.’ Then the nun:
‘If that thought grieves thee, pray and I shall see.’
St. Brigid knelt; and lo! the blind one saw!
AUBREY DE VERE.
The Burren and Beyond 