“Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone,
It’s with O’Leary in the grave.”
Then, Yeats, what gave that Easter dawn
A hue so radiantly brave?
There was a rain of blood that day,
Red rain in gay blue April weather.
It blessed the earth till it gave birth
To valour thick as blooms of heather.
Romantic Ireland never dies!
O’Leary lies in fertile ground,
And songs and spears throughout the years
Rise up where patriot graves are found.
Immortal patriots newly dead
And ye that bled in bygone years,
What banners rise before your eyes?
What is the tune that greets your ears?
The young Republic’s banners smile
For many a mile where troops convene.
O’Connell Street is loudly sweet
With strains of Wearing of the Green.
The soil of Ireland throbs and glows
With life that knows the hour is here
To strike again like Irishmen
For that which Irishmen hold dear.
Lord Edward leaves his resting place
And Sarsfield’s face is glad and fierce.
See Emmet leap from troubled sleep
To grasp the hand of Padraic Pearse!
There is no rope can strangle song
And not for long death takes his toll.
No prison bars can dim the stars
Nor quicklime eat the living soul.
Romantic Ireland is not old.
For years untold her youth will shine.
Her heart is fed on Heavenly bread,
The blood of martyrs is her wine.

(by Edmund Spenser)

Most glorious Lord of Lyfe! that, on this day,
Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin;
And, having harrowd hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win:
This joyous day, deare Lord, with joy begin;
And grant that we, for whom thou diddest dye,
Being with Thy deare blood clene washt from sin,
May live for ever in felicity!

And that Thy love we weighing worthily,
May likewise love Thee for the same againe;
And for Thy sake, that all lyke deare didst buy,
With love may one another entertayne!
So let us love, deare Love, lyke as we ought,
—Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

An Easter blessing

(by J S Bach)

Bless this day the joy of life,
The revelation of the flesh,
The paradise of man and wife
Joined to share the gift of bliss.

Bless this day the pain of life,
The passion that redeems the flesh,
The love between a man and wife
Beyond all agony and bliss.

Bless this day the end of life,
The peace within the dying flesh,
The bond between a man and wife
That long outlasts their bit of bliss.

Bless this day the whole of life,
The grace of being more than flesh,
The voyage of a man and wife
Across the mystery of bliss.

For all who entered the garden gate,
I’d boldly lift my head and wait
‘Til they gazed upon my beauty fair.
All who came would see me there.

On the night before he was crucified,
Jesus entered. He passed me by.
He wept and prayed in silence there.
All my friends bowed their heads in prayer.

In pity and sorrow they gathered round,
Except for me. I could not be found.
I would not join in. I was much too proud.
Bow my lovely head? No, I would not allow!

News spread quickly, the very next day.
All ’round the garden, I heard everyone say
Jesus was going to be crucified.
Oh, I wanted to run. I wanted to hide!

I’d been much too vain to hang my head low,
That first Good Friday; long, long, ago.
I would not join the others who prayed with our King.
Now, how can I bear such a sorrowful thing?

No longer will I proudly face the sun.
My head will hang lowly, ashamed of what I’ve done.
My blossom forever will down turned be,
In honor of Jesus; at Gethsemane.

(by Dot McGinnis)

I could hardly wait
To keep our date
This lovely Easter morning,
And my heart beat fast
As I came through that door…for

In your Easter bonnet
With all the frills upon it,
You’ll be the grandest lady in
The Easter parade.

I’ll be all in clover,
And when they look you over
I’ll be the proudest fellow in
The Easter parade.

On the Avenue, Fifth Avenue,
The photographers will snap us
And you’ll find that you’re in the rotogravure.

Oh, I could write a sonnet
About your Easter bonnet
And of the girl I’m taking to
The easter parade.