Denis J Foley Poems

In Memoriam

Most Rev.Dr. J.A. O Callaghan Bishop of Cork

Oh, Saintly Prelate, thy earthly course is run'
Thy lasting crown of glory's won"
Forever now you've gain'd sweet rest,
In the realms above 'mid the pure and Blest,
Aye! a noble life thou lead'st here below,
In this sphere of sorrow, care and woe,
Zealously, nobly, ever thou strove,
To guide the wanderers to the haven of Love'
Ever a faithful soldier of the risen Lord,
Great was thy labour in his vineyard'
Long will a faithful people thee revere
Faithful guide to them so dear'
Cherish'd in time wi1l be thY memorY,
Warm Celtic hearts will remember thee,
Deep was thy toil-aye! a labour of love,
All, all, for the homage of the Ruler above'
Meet and just the reward of the Almighty One'
When the great call resounds and the life work is done'
Of the gold and faithful servant who with ardour and zeal
Toiled steadfastly on, thro' woe and thro' weal'
Peace to thy shade, oh, sweet be thy rest,
Now thy spirit co-mingles with Gods choicest and blest;
Thou enjoy'st the reward of a stainless career'
That awarded thee 'yond Death's portals drear;
Resigned to the call of the Sweet Maker Divine'
A well merited portion for e'er now is thine,
Mid the Saints and the Martyrs who suffered and died
A just Master Last decreed thou may'st abide
O great philosopher, friend and counsellor wise
Plead for us 'fore the Great Throne in Paradise

Denis J Foley,
Glounecomane.
Sept-25th -1916 

How Oft has the Banshee Cried

How oft has the Banshee cried?
How oft has her mournful caione
Rung thro' the glades and echoed in the vales
Of Erin's Isle of Green.
For its told in the annals of Eire's land,
She bewails the warrior's brave;
Who fell in the fray ere the close of day
Or perished beyond the wave.

When some chieftain's spirit was 'bout to flee
To the bright Celestial Bourne,
The Banshee bemoans his passing
And sadly for him doth mourn.
Then her piercing wail resounds in the gale
Her warning grim -- of death
Yea! a scion true of the Celtic race
Will ne'er more his sword un-sheath.

When misfortune dire o'er-spread our Isle
Is heard too, her sad, lone wail,
She bemoans the lot of her noble sons
And the fate of Granuale
That this lovely land should in thraldom lie
The fairest, the brightest gem:
That rose o'er the waters shimmering wave-
A precious, rare diadem... ..

O Fate! how long 'bove our suffering Isle,
Shall hang the heavy pall,
Of disappointment and unrest,
Which holds this land in thrall.
Shall this dear Isle once happy - free
Ne'er more know bliss or peace,
Shall Irish men as foes remain
And rancour never cease?.

Ah! no a just Heaven will yet award,
A generous portion meet,
Of happiness, prosperity and peacefulness,
And freedom - oh! so sweet.
Then Eire's long night of suffering's o'er
O fair! lovely Innisfail,
Never more in warning of misery or woe,
Will echo the lonely Banshee's wail

Denis J Foley,
Glounecommane.

June_29th_1916
 

No Man's Land

A dreary waste is "No Man's Land"
Where mortal dar'st to tread;
'Tween trenches deep in which brave men stand
While shells shriek overhead,
Here death stalks rampant - everywhere
It wields unbounded sway
Above the ground - yea! in the air
Is waged the deadly fray.

There lie the fallen, cruelly slain,
Bv mortal's thirst for greed,
,Mid turmoil wild and din they fell,
Their souls from prison freed
But yet the carnage greater grows,
For mankind's genius, skill
For fellow men's destruction vile
Is turned at despots will.

Here the rolling plain, once fertile fair,
Is barren, withered brown,
The happy homes each vale bedeck'd,
Stands ruined and battered down;
The "dug-outs" seem as vermin nests,
Yet here must men abide,
For yonder is dread-"no man's land"
Where none his steps may guide.

The lofty fanes, embellish'd, priceless rare,
The cities. pretty towns,
That lay within the vine-clad slopes,
There now in ruin'd frown.
O war, base vile, despoiler
Ambition's lust weighs on thy brow,
Hell hath no torments like unto thee,
False, fatuous, cruel slayer art thou,

O hasten Lord, we humbly plead
The day of Peace that we beseech;
Thy wrath assuage and mercy show,
And erring hearts to teach;
That alone to thee the pow'r belongs
To shape the nation's destiny
And chasten those who live in vice
And cease to think with awe of Thee

Denis J Foley,
Glounicommane.
Sept -20th-1916

In memory of Tomas Ashe

True to Ireland, heroic, daring.
He's the patriot's pure soul'd zeal;
Oh! forever shall his name shine,
Mongst the brave of Innisfail.
Ah! a martyr for his sireland,
Suffered he for Erin's sake;
All the torfures of the tyrant
Should not his dauntless courage break,
Heaven grant him peace--Eternal Rest-
Everlasting Bliss 'mid his chosen Blest... ...

Denis J. Foley. 

The New Year

A bright new year, is once more here-from out Time's womb
The o1d year's past, Aye! one it wast of sorrow-gloom.
Thickly fell the human rain, upon the gory sodden plain
ever without ceasing.
Mortals writhing in their gorg where cannons madly belch and roar,
God' s wrath unappeasing.
Many bewailing lov'd ones fond, pass'd to the great beyond,
whence there's ao returning.
Gone from out this vale of tears, now nougt kaowing of earthly cares,
free from grief or mourning.
There amid the fearful strife, the Reaper Death was ever rife-
Aye! there men died.
In the stifling smoke and shell, thro' that fierce and earthly hell,
which pen cannot describe"
O, God of Nations humbly we pray, send to men the joyful ray
of glorious peace.
Bring this carnage to an end, quell the vile and wrathful fiend of war-
soon grant it cease.
Permit O Lord that this thrice welcome span, within the life of weary man
may bring sweet joy.
A measure blest of Heavenly Bliss may waft to us from Paradise-
a peace without allay.

Denis J. Foley,
Glounecomane.
27 ------1------1917 . . .
 

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