Denis J Foley Poems

Written about -appeal by Society of Saint Vincent de Paul Cork Annual Xmas Drawing 1948

Earnestly fervently thus they plead
And succour seek for those in need
A plaintive call, each to assist
The poor and lowly within their midst
A little given may mean so much
This little given unto the Lord
In the eyes of Heaven, merits meet reward
The pangs of hunger thus to allay
In the giving heart, when skies are grey
Cast o'er its course one ray of light
And make the pathway seem ever bright
That the soul may never yield to despair
But, always feel that He is near
Thus be ever mindful of God's own poor
Who daily pass and re-pass our door
"They are always with us" has He not said
And so they plead for their daily bread
Thus we may know they are in His care
And of our bounty a little share
With the poor and needy among our kin
Knowing that charity covers hosts of sins.

Denis J Foley.
Glounecomane. . . . . .

The Absent Ones

I think of you as morning's light
Don't shine across the lawn
As with hastening footsteps on I tread
To drive the cattle to the bawn.
Your cheery voice methinks I hear
But you are far away-
And foreign skies doth o'er thee loom
As you greet the new born day.

And as I, my daily tasks fulfil
And bend to honest toil
With truth and fervour let me say
I miss the sunshine of thy smile.
But He hath willed and so I bow
To fate's solemn, grim decree
That sent thee from thy home away
Across the vast, restless sea.

When night upon the hills and dales
Doth cast its sombre pall
Remembering thoughts will crowd my soul
And hold my heart in thrall
And when Luna lends her gentle light
To illume. the silent scene
The thought, relief to me doth bring
On you, too, it casts its beam.

And for the heartache in each breast
As for home or friends may turn ?????
Let us in Him place all our trust
Whatso-e'er we may for yearn. ??????

Our hearts unite beneath his care
Where e're our lot is thrown

Denis J Foley,

( Last verse not completed. This is probably one
of his last poems, it was found written on
the back of a letter ) 

In Memory of Mr James Gilhooly, M.P.

 Join all ye sons of Erin's Isle within her emerald shore'
And mourn the loss of a true Gael, who's now alas! no more'
Mong the heroes of the Motherland who strove to set her free,
Engraven on the scroll of fame, his name shall ever be'
Scion true of Celtic blood, he was a patriot true,
Great was his love and zeal forthee sweet gleen robed "Roseen Dubh"
In dark bye-gone days he struggled hard against the-tyrant foe'
Loyally he dared a true man's share, no cowardice did he show'
High - minded, with courage bold, he even played his part'
Of dauntless soul possess;d, kind, honest, faithful heart'
Oh! Saviour just, grant him sweet rest within thy home on high'
Let Heavenly Bliss his portion be forever to enjoy'
Yea! may it Le his rewwd-aplace without allay'

Denis J. Foley,



Go where I wilt, stray where I may,
Lake, mountain bold, or sweet vale sunny;
One spot to me seems yet more fair--
Unrivall'd beauteous, beyond compare!
Neath foreign skies should I chance to roam,
Enthrall'd, my thoughts would fly o'er the foam'
Constant dreams my soul should each moment fill,
Of that sweet cot. perched on yon green hill'
Under that lowly thatched roof God's sweet light fell on me,
My childhood's days there passed-happily,
As by fond parents knee I gambolled in childish mirth'
Undimmed my mind with cares of earth.
Never more, alas! for us will youth's gay tide return'
Ever found, ah, yes! within the Celestial Bourne' 

Lines in memory of Thomas Ashe

'Mongst Erins noble martyr's sons,
Forever ranks his name;
Emblazoned bright, a shining light,
Upon the scroll of fame.
In manhood's bloom a victim doom'd.
To England's vengeance lash;
And cruel hate-oh! sad his fate,
The gentle Thomas Ashe.

The tortures of the dungeon cell,
Did not his courage break;
'Fore the dire pangs of hunger
His dauntless heart ne'er quaked
"They've branded me a criminal
I'll suffer to the last.
To perish'd there for Erin's sake,
The noble Thomas Ashe.

He bore it all for his dear land,
A hero true he died;
And through all time will Irishmen
Remember him with pride.
His tortured soul shall e'er instil,
In Irish hearts a flash
Of deep, unquenching burning love
For the gentle Thomas Ashe.

May the green sod of mother earth,
Lay lightly on his breast;
He takes his long last silent sleep,
With her bravest and her best.
May his noble spirit in peace abide,
'Till Michael's trumpet clash
Resounds-'ere the judgment hour is nigh_
The pure soul'd Thomas Ashe.

Denis J Foley,
October-23rd. - l9l7. 

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