In their hearts is a song, breaking forth into words that are tender,
Unto her with the gold of the stars and the blue of the skies.
In the still summer air there's a chorus of minstrelsy breaking,
There are flashes of gold with a flutter and waving of wings:
Mary's birds are they, come with the dawn, all the green woods forsaking,
Every heart in them breaking for love with the message it brings.
Through the calm August day, with Our Lady's blue sky far above them,
And beyond the grey mountains where slumbers the Irish green sea,
There they speak to her, weep while they pray to her, beg her to love them,
Till beyond the bright stars where their home and their treasure shall be.
ST. PATRICK'S TREASURE
By P. J. Carroll, C.S.C.
Called son by many lands,
Thou art a father unto one.
Of all these mothers claiming thee,
By honored titles naming thee,
We ask: Where is thy priceless birthright gone?
