Page:Selections from Ancient Irish Poetry - Meyer.djvu/62

 He is a bird round which a trap closes, He is a leaky ship in perilous danger, He is an empty vessel, a withered tree, Who doth not the will of the King above.

He is a fragrant branch with its blossom, He is a vessel full of honey, He is a precious stone with its virtue, Whoso doth the will of God's Son from Heaven.

He is a blind nut in which there is no good, He is a stinking rottenness, a withered tree, He is a branch of a blossomless crab-apple, Whoso doth not the will of the King.

Whoso doth the will of God's Son from Heaven Is a brilliant summer-sun, Is a daïs of God of Heaven, Is a pure crystalline vessel.

He is a victorious racehorse over a smooth plain, The man that striveth after the Kingdom of great
 * God;

He is a chariot that is seen Under a triumphant king.

He is a sun that warms holy Heaven, A man with whom the Great King is pleased, He is a temple blessed, noble, He is a holy shrine bedecked with gold.

He is an altar on which wine is dealt, Round which a multitude of melodies is sung, He is a cleansed chalice with liquor, He is fair white bronze, he is gold.