Saint Brigid


Mid dewy pastures girdled with blue air
Where ruddy kine the limpid waters drink
Through violet-purpled woods of green Kildare
‘Neath rainbow skies, by tinkling rivulet’s brink

O Brigid, young, thy tender snow-white feet
In days of old on breezy morns and eves
Wandered through labyrinths of sun and shade
Thy face so innocent-sweet
Shining with love that neither joys nor grieves
Save as the angels, meek and holy maid

With white fire in thy hand that burned no man
But cleansed and warmed where’er its rays might fall
Nor ever wasted low, or needed fan
Thou walked at eve among the oak-trees tall

There thou didst chant thy vespers while each star
Grew brighter listening through the leafy screen
Then ceased the song-bird all his love-notes soft
His music near or far
Hushing his passion ‘mid the sombre green
To let thy peaceful whispers float aloft

And still from heavenly choirs thou stealest by night
To tell sweet Aves in the woods unseen
To tend the shrine-lamps with thy flambeau white
And set thy tender footprints in the green

Thus sing our birds with holy note and pure
As though the loves of angels were their theme
Thus burn to throbbing flame our sacred fires
With heats that still endure
Thence hath our daffodil its golden gleam
From thy dear mindfulness that never tires


Written by Lady Gilbert (Rosa Mulholland; 1855-    )

Song Clip