Donnelly's Orchard (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    When a Dublin man shall say,
    "Give me a little bread, I pray,"
    If you do not give him bread
    You will be hungry when he is fed.

    And let no priest or magistrate
    Scowl upon the poor man's plate,
    Asking him the question sly
    To which no one can reply.

    Pacing slowly down the road
    Black horses go, with load on load
    Of Dublin people dead, and they
    Will be covered up in clay.

    Ere their friends go home, each man
    Will shake his head, and drain a can
    To Dublin people we will meet
    Not again in Grafton Street.

    The man who has and does not give
    Shall break his neck, and cease to live;
    But he who gives without a care
    Shall gather rubies from the air.

    A Dublin man will frown when he
    Hears a tale of villainy;
    But when a kindness you relate,
    He swings and whistles on the gate.

    When no flower is nigh, you might
    Spy a weed with deep delight;
    So, when far from saints and bliss,
    God might give a sin a kiss.

    I saw the moon so broad and bright
    Sailing high on a frosty night:

    And the air swung far and far between
    The silver disc and the orb of green:

    While here and there a wisp of white
    Cloud-film swam on the misty light:

    And crusted thickly on the sky,
    High and higher and yet more high,

    Were golden star-points dusted through
    The great, wide, silent vault of blue:

    Then I said to me, God is good
    And the world is fair, and where I stood

    I knelt me down and bent my head,
    And said my prayers, and went to bed.