Now McEvoy was altar-boy <br />As long as I remember; <br />He was, bedad, a crabbed lad, <br />And sixty come December. <br />Faith, no one dared to "interfare" <br />In things the which concernin' <br />'Twas right and just to him to trust <br />Who had the bit o' learnin' <br />To serve the priest; and here at least <br />He never proved defaulter; <br />So, wet or dry, you could rely <br />To find him on the Altar. <br /> <br />The acolyte in surplice white <br />Some admiration rouses: <br />But McEvoy was altar-boy <br />In "Sund'y coat-'n-trouses." <br />And out he'd steer, the eye severe <br />The depths behind him plumbin', <br />In dread, I wot (he once was "cot"), <br />The priest might not be comin': <br />Then, stepping slow on heel and toe, <br />No more he'd fail or falter, <br />But set likewise with hands and eyes <br />He'd move about the Altar. <br /> <br />A master-stroke of other folk <br />Might start the opposition, <br />And some, mebbe, in jealousy <br />Bedoubt their erudition; <br />But McEvoy was altar-boy <br />And, spite of all their chattin', <br />It "put the stuns" on lesser ones <br />To hear him run the Latin. <br />And faith, he knew the business through, <br />The rubrics and the psalter; <br />You never met his "aikals" yet <br />When servin' on the Altar. <br /> <br />The priest, indeed, might take the lead <br />By fight of Holy Orders, <br />But McEvoy was altar-boy, <br />And just upon the borders. <br />So sermons dry he'd signify <br />With puckered brows behoovin', <br />An', if you please, at homilies <br />He'd nod the head approvin'; <br />And all the while a cute old smile <br />Picked out the chief defaulter; <br />Faith, wet or dry, the crabbed eye <br />Would "vet" you from the Altar. <br /> <br /> <br />John O'Brien <br /><br /><br />John O'Brien<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-altar-boy/
