OMNIUM SANCTORUM HIBERNIAE

Tag: Poems

  • 'Thou art the Mother of the Great King' – an Irish night prayer in honour of Our Lady

    Below is the text of a beautiful night prayer to Our Lady, which I first posted some years ago. It is such a wonderful text that it deserves a second outing.


    A devotional poem, dated c.900 runs:

    O Mary, my blessing on thee in every part that thou mayest commend me tonight to thy Son.
    O Queen of all the virgins in the wide world, pray for me to thy great good Son that I may be saved.
    That thou mayest bring triumph from the world with numerous hosts, bring me to heaven swiftly by thy grace.
    By thy birth, by thy glory, come to me; to the house of thy great good Son lead me by the hand.
    By the choice that was made of thee over every part, by the Father, faultless worth, by the Son,
    By the Holy Spirit who has bestowed every grace on thee, to bring me to heaven, fair the place, be it thy share.
    By every angel, by every virgin, by every saint, bring me in the company of the (heavenly) hosts with noble peace.
    With my soul, with my body, with my understanding and with my sense, I am under thy protection as long as I may be here.
    Mayest thou save me, whether early or late I leave the world, from every danger with numerous hosts, from every attack.
    I throw myself on thy breast, on thy knee and on thy cheek, on thy soul, on thy blood, on thy flesh at all times.
    Under thy protection may I be here and yonder against every strait, mayest thou be my guard always (until I come) to the King of the stars.
    O Mary, hear my cry to holy heaven so that thou mayest be my shelter against the host of base devils.
    Except for Christ thou art the one most abounding in grace who has visited the world, thou hast defeated the devil in battle in thy course.
    Thou art the vessel in which was the manna, O fair generous one; thou art the shrine in which was for a while the Son of the King of the stars.
    Thou art the golden cup in which was the wine which intoxicates and gladdens the host for all eternity.
    Thou art the paradise in which was the sweet tree of life; thy Son has taken the hostage of the (human) race, O pleasant Sun.
    Thou art the mother of the great King, Son of swift God; thy countenance shines gloriously like the sun.
    Mayest thou save me from sin, from the plague of cold hell; let not the demon near me, O radiant sun.
    May it be a protection to me to praise thee – blessed is that; whoever practises it rightly, may he have heaven.
    The prayer of each strong noble saint to thee: thy prayer along with each to pure Christ:
    That I may have the gift of diligent piety always; that I may shine like a star yonder in heaven;
    That no demon may come to me when I shall die; that I may not get torment nor plague from the King of the clouds.
    May I not part from Christ here nor yonder; the house where is the Son of the King of the stars, may I be there.
    The blessing of rich and poor on thy Son; O Mary, my blessing on thee in every part.

    Source: B. O Cuiv, ‘Some early devotional verse in Irish’, Eriu, XIX, 13-17 in P.O’Dwyer O.Carm, Mary – a history of devotion in Ireland (Dublin, 1988), 64-65.


    Content Copyright © Omnium Sanctorum Hiberniae 2012-2015. All rights reserved.

  • Christmas Eve in Ireland

    Frontispiece to The Irish Christmas (Dublin, 1917).

    Today is Christmas Eve and as a child I remember hearing that on this night we should leave a light shining in the front window of the house. This was to act as a signal that even if there was ‘no room at the inn’ elsewhere, Saint Joseph and Our Blessed Lady would find shelter with us. Katharine Tynan in her poem ‘Christmas Eve in Ireland’ alludes to this tradition and also to the fact that people not only displayed lights but kept their doors unlocked. Obviously it was an earlier and more innocent age! I’ve also published a poem called Saint Brigid’s Lullabies at my other site Trias Thaumaturga today, you can read it here.

    CHRISTMAS EVE IN IRELAND
    NOT a cabin in the Glen shuts its door to-night,
    Lest the travellers abroad knock in vain and pass,
    Just a humble gentleman and a lady bright
    And she to be riding on an ass.
    Grief is on her goodman, that the inns deny
    Shelter to his dearest Dear in her hour of need;
    That her Babe of royal birth, starriest, most high,
    Has not where to lay His head.
    Must they turn in sadness to the cattle byre
    And the kind beasts once again shake the bed for
    Him?
    Not a cabin in the Glen but heaps wood on the fire
    And keeps its lamps a-trim.
    Now the woman makes the bed, smooths the linen
    sheet,
    Spreads the blanket, soft and white, that her
    own hands spun.
    Whisht! is that the ass that comes, on his four
    little feet,
    Carrying the Holy One ?
    Nay, ’twas but the wind and rain, the sand on the
    floor.
    A bitter night, yea, cruel, for folk to be abroad.
    And she, not fit for hardship, outside a fast-closed
    door,
    And her Son the Son of God!
    Is it the moon that’s turning the dark world to
    bright ?
    Is it some wonderful dawning in the night and
    cold ?
    Whisht! did you see a shining One and Him to
    be clad in light
    And the wings and head of Him gold ?
    Who are then those people, hurrying, hasting,
    those,
    And they all looking up in the sky this night of
    wondrous things ?
    Oh, those I think be shepherdmen, and they that
    follow close
    I think by their look be kings.
    Not a cabin in the Glen shuts the door till day,
    Lest the heavenly travellers come, knock again
    in vain.
    All the night the dulcimers, flutes, and hautboys
    play,
    And the angels walk with men.
    The Flower of Peace – A Collection of the Devotional Poetry of Katharine Tynan, 11-12.

    Content Copyright © Omnium Sanctorum Hiberniae 2012-2015. All rights reserved.

  • Medieval Wisdom: Five Hateful Things

    I picked up a copy of a book of medieval Anglo-Irish poetry recently in a charity shop. The Kildare Poems, as the collection is known, show a strong Franciscan influence. Their author is unknown, although there is mention of a Friar Michael of Kildare as the author of one of them. The collection is preserved in the British Library Manuscript, Harley 913, and was written in Ireland in the early fourteenth century. The CELT project have made the original texts available online, although not the translations or the author’s introduction. I rather liked this pithy example of medieval wisdom:

    Five Hateful Things
    A bishop without doctrine,
    a king without judgment,
    an imprudent young man,
    a foolish old man,
    a woman without shame –
    I swear by the King of heaven,
    those are five hateful things.
    Here is the original:
    [MS fol 6v]
    Bissop lorles,
    Kyng redeles,
    Yung man rechles,
    Old man witles,
    Womman ssamles—
    I swer bi heuen Kyng,
    Thos beth fiue lither thing.
    A.M. Lucas, ed. Anglo-Irish poems of the Middle Ages, (Dublin, 1995), 56-57.

    Content Copyright © Omnium Sanctorum Hiberniae 2012-2015. All rights reserved.