THE cottages all lie asleep; <br />The sheep and lambs are folded in <br />Winged sentinels the vale will keep <br />Until the hours of life begin. <br /> <br />The children with their prayers all said <br />Sleep until cockcrow shall awake <br />The gardens in their gold and red <br />And robins in the bush and brake. <br /> <br />The fields of harvest golden-white, <br />The fields of pasture rich and green, <br />Sleep on nor fear the kindly night, <br />The watching mountains set between. <br /> <br />The river sings its sleepy song, <br />Nought stirs the wakeful owl beside: <br />Our peace is builded sure and strong <br />No evil beast can creep inside. <br /> <br />St Patrick and St Brigid hold <br />The vale its little houses all, <br />While men-at-arms in white and gold <br />Glide swiftly by the outer wall. <br /> <br />St Brendan and St Kevin pluck <br />The robes of God that He may hear- <br />And Colum: 'Keep the Irish flock <br />So that no shame or sin come near.' <br /> <br />What news of Belgian folk to-day? <br />How fare the village and the town? <br />O Belgium's all on fire they say, <br />And all her towers are toppling down. <br /> <br />What are her angels doing then, <br />And are the Belgian saints asleep, <br />That in this night of dule and pain <br />The Belgians mourn, the Belgians weep?<br /><br />Katharine Tynan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-watchers-8/
