They’ll be priestin’ him the morra –
Troth it’s a quare world too!
For I min’ the rascal that he was,
And the things he used to do.
Many’s a time I chased him
When the strawberries were ripe
Though I own I never caught him –
He was faster nor a snipe.
He hit me wi’ a snowball once,
And that same very hand
Will be blessin’ me the morra –
Troth it’s hard to understand.
Long Richard from Kircrubbin,
Who a sort of far-out frien’,
Is struttin’ round this fortnight back,
Just like a hatchin’ hen.
McAllister from Cargey,
Who’s no more to him nor me,
You’d think to hear the chat of him
He reared him on his knee.
Tom the Tailor’s nearly bet
From hurryin’ on new suits,
And there’s powerful heavy buyin’
On caps and yella boots.
The square is thick with buntin’ –
Man dear there’ll be a sight
When the late bus from Downpatrrick
Gets in the morra night.
Oul’ Canon Dan, God bless him,
Will be fussin’ fit to burst,
And the women batin’ other
To get the blessin’ first.
But, Canon or no Canon
And I’d say this till his face,
For all his bit o’ purple
He’ll take the second place.
Sure even if the Bishop came
Wi’ yon big mitre on
He wouldn’t get the welcome
That we’ll give to Father John.
The pains are at me constant now
I seldom cross the door –
But I’m crossin’ it the morra
If I never cross it more.
You can quit your scoldin’ , Julia
An’ sayin’ I’m not wise –
Sure the sight of him will ease me heart
An’ gladden me oul’ eyes
It won’t be easy bendin’,
An’ the oul’ knees will hurt
But I’ll get down there fornenst him
In all the mud and dirt.
And if I get the chance at all
I’ll whisper in his ear
(Och I’ll do it nice and quiet
so that no one else will hear) :
“If anything should happen me
before you go away,
it’s no one but yourself I want
to shrive me on the clay.
Th’ oul’ Canon mightn’t like it
For he’s still hale and strong,
And I’m sure if he anointed me
He wouldn’t do it wrong.
But I’d feel more contented
If the hand to bless me when I go
Was the hand that threw the snowball
Twenty years ago.
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