Three powers are of the Evil One to curse mankind; An Evil Eye, an Evil Tongue, an Evil Mind. Three words are God's own breath and Mary's to her Son, For she in heaven had heard them, told them every one. The word of Mercy free, the singing word of Joy, The binding word of Love He gives us to employ. O may the saving might of these three holy words On Erin's men and women light, and keep them still the Lord's.
"God save you my three brothers! God save you! Now how far Have ye on foot to travel, by sun and moon and star?"
"To Olivet's own Mount we fare till we have gotten gold, Therefrom a cup to fashion the tears of Christ to hold."
"So do! And when those Precious Tears drop down into the bowl Into thy very heart they'll fall and cure thee body and soul."
My succour from all sinful harms Be Thou, Almighty Father! And Mary, who, within her arms The King of Kings did gather! And Michael, messenger to earth From out the Heavenly City, The Twelve of Apostolic worth, And last the Lord of Pity! That so my soul, encircled by their care, Into Heaven's Golden Halls with joy may fare!
On going to sleep, think that it is the sleep of Death and that you may be summoned to the Day of the Mountain of Judgment and say:
I lay me down with God; May He rest here also, His Guardian arms around my head, Christ's Cross my limbs below.
Where wouldst, thou lay thee down? 'Twixt Mary and her Son-- Brigit and her bright mantle, Colomb and his shield handle, God and His strong Right Hand.
At morn where wouldst thou rise? With Patrick to the skies.
In the Battle of Aidne, Crede, the daughter of King Guare of Aidne, beheld Dinertach of the HyFidgenti, who had come to the help of Guare with seventeen wounds upon his breast. Then she fell in love with him. He died and was buried in the cemetery of Colman's Church.
"These are the arrows that murder sleep," At every hour in the night's black deep; Pangs of Love through the long day ache All for the dead Dinertach's sake.
Great love of a hero from Roiny's plain Has pierced me through with immortal pain, Blasted my beauty and left me to blanch, A riven bloom on a restless branch!
Never was song like Dinertach's speech, But holy strains that to Heaven's gate reach. A front of flame without boast or pride, Yet a firm, fond mate for a fair maid's side.