Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/148

142 Reach out a golden beam of thine

And touch her pain. Your finger-tips

Do make the violets' blue eclipse

Like milk upon a daisy shine.

God, who lights the little stars,

And over night the white dew spills.

Whose hand doth move the season's cars

And clouds that mock our pointed hills.

Whose bounty fills the cow-trod wold,

And fills with bread the warm brown sod.

Who brings us sleep, where we grow old

'Til sleep and age together nod.

Reach out a beam and touch the pain

A heart has oozed thro' all the years.

Your pity dries the morning's tears

And fills the world with joy again!"