The Island Is Sinking

Perhaps in some strange and far-off land
where my children's children live
they once again will take a stand
to preach, teach, and forgive.

For now my emerald isle home
once honored and renowned
is seemingly barren of the Faith,
the island is sinking down.

God promised that it would not see
the four horsemen's final call
rather it would founder, vanishing
not suffering at all.

The four green fields would slowly yield
and sink beneath the waves.
Where once my children's blood ran thick
the sea covers their graves.

Not long ago my children left
to spread the Faith worldwide.
Convents, seminaries fit to burst
were such a source of pride.

Today they are all empty,
none studying in their halls.
The barren womb has left no room
for a heart to heed His call.

So I look for where my children went
o'er centuries now past,
scattered over every land
and there my net is cast.

To every son and daughter
of Ireland, hear my pleading:
We lack for holy priests and nuns
it's saints that we are needing.

To all you men and women
who have God in their hearts,
add actions to affections
and strive to do your part.

I know someday my beloved isle
Will sink beneath the sea.
But I never thought my land
Would turn its back on Thee.

SMD

3.15.2007