The old priest Peter Gilligan <br />Was weary night and day <br />For half his flock were in their beds <br />Or under green sods lay. <br /> <br />Once, while he nodded in a chair <br />At the moth-hour of the eve <br />Another poor man sent for him, <br />And he began to grieve. <br /> <br />'I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace, <br />For people die and die; <br />And after cried he, 'God forgive! <br />My body spake not I!' <br /> <br />He knelt, and leaning on the chair <br />He prayed and fell asleep; <br />And the moth-hour went from the fields, <br />And stars began to peep. <br /> <br />They slowly into millions grew, <br />And leaves shook in the wind <br />And God covered the world with shade <br />And whispered to mankind. <br /> <br />Upon the time of sparrow chirp <br />When the moths came once more, <br />The old priest Peter Gilligan <br />Stood upright on the floor. <br /> <br />'Mavrone, mavrone! The man has died <br />While I slept in the chair.' <br />He roused his horse out of its sleep <br />And rode with little care. <br /> <br />He rode now as he never rode, <br />By rocky lane and fen; <br />The sick man's wife opened the door, <br />'Father! you come again!' <br /> <br />'And is the poor man dead?' he cried <br />'He died an hour ago.' <br />The old priest Peter Gilligan <br />In grief swayed to and fro. <br /> <br />'When you were gone, he turned and died, <br />As merry as a bird.' <br />The old priest Peter Gilligan <br />He knelt him at that word. <br /> <br />'He Who hath made the night of stars <br />For souls who tire and bleed, <br />Sent one of this great angels down, <br />To help me in my need. <br /> <br />'He Who is wrapped in purple robes, <br />With planets in His care <br />Had pity on the least of things <br />Asleep upon a chair.'<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ballad-of-father-gilligan/
