St. Patrick’s Day
The Shamrock
Scattered all over the face of creation,
From the green mountain tops to the great ocean sprays;
The militant sons of a marvelous nation,
Are wearing the tender green shamrock to-day.
Working men, thinking men, lawyer men, writing men,
With muscles like iron and intellect keen;
Gentlemen, husbandmen, family men, fighting men.
And every one gallantly wearing the green.
Some till the soil by the beautiful Shannon,
While some through the billowy seas plow their way;
And some face the shells from the thundering cannon,
Some rear their sons in the good U. S. A.
But when the spring wakes the year from its slumber,
Which time comes along about March seventeen,
The sons of old Erin, a grand goodly number,
Are decked with the shamrock so tender and green.
—Agnes C. Quinlan.
Mother Machree
There’s a spot in me heart which no colleen may own.
There’s a depth in me soul never sounded or known;
There’s a place in my mem’ry, my life, that you fill,
No other can take it, no one ever will.
Sure I love the dear silver that shines in your hair,
And the brow that’s all furrowed, and wrinkled with care.
I kiss the dear fingers, so toil-worn for me,
Oh, God bless you and keep you, Mother Machree!
Ev’ry sorrow or care in the dear days gone by,
Was made bright by the light of the smile in your eye;
Like a candle that’s set in a window at night,
Your fond love has cheered me, and guided me right.
—Rida J. Young.
Alternate Reading: Colossians 3: 5-17.