Part 3 — THE ISLE OF SAINTS.

There lived to Erin’s hallowed borders, In days of yore, three saintly Orders. And first, the simply HOLY:—They Shed like the stars a flickering ray. The second—HOLIER—poured a light Moon-like, subdued and calmly bright. The third, or HOLIEST of all, Shone like the sun—or like Saint Paul. But, oh, the state of man’s unrest In good!—the last were first and best. The middle but a term between The purest and the least serene; Less than the greatest—greater far Than those whose emblem is the star. Waning they ran a downward race, With fainter faith and lessening grace, Till, reaching to the stage most lowly, The least and latest were the Holy. Oh, that they there had staid!—that sin Had, to this swept and garnished inn Returning, found the entrance barred, And Faith still keeping watch and ward!— Alas!—they slept in Ease’s bower; They could not “watch one little hour.” The stars their ineffectual light In slumber sealed. The thief by night Entered; and o’er the rich domain Sowed tares among the better grain. Sin flourished;—poverty and strife Embittered all the charms of life; And passion, with unbounded sway, Swept sun and moon and stars away. And yet not ever such, sweet Isle, Shall be thy fate. The stars shall smile Again upon thy valleys green, Again the moon shall beam serene Upon thy mountains; and the bright Celestial sun clothe thee with light, With plenty bless, and warm and cheer Thy long-delayed millenial year. Even now the sacred morning dawns, The clouds are fleeting from thy lawns; And, as light thickens in the sky, Lo! Riot and Intemperance fly; And chaste sobriety imparts Her cup, and Industry his arts. Peace, Love, and Holiness once more Row their sweet ark towards thy shore; And Heaven renews the favouring smile That made thee once the Saintly Isle.