A Shrine of Donegal

LOUGH D ERG , Lough Derg, how chant the waves along
Thy solemn shores, and in the flowing air
Drift murmurs of an unforgotten song
And of remembered prayer.

A land of sainted soil and hallowed sea,
Round no more sacred isle the broad tide rolls,
Lough Derg, than where the waters compass thee,
Crowned with thine aureoles.

For thee the print of Patrick's holy bones
Blesses; and echoes of the centuries' feet
That moved along the penitential stones
In all thy winds are sweet.

Here came my fathers in their life's high day
In barefoot sorrow, but God knows the whole:
Not for themselves they fasted, but to lay
Up riches for my soul.

Great waters are between thy shores and me,
My feet upon thy strand may never stray,
But, O Lough Derg, the prayers they said on thee
Fall on my need today.
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