The Ballad of Father Gillian by W.B. Yeats(Text)

 Poem Text: The Ballad of Father Gilligan by W.B. Yeats

> The old priest Peter Gilligan

Was weary night and day;

For half his flock were in their beds

Or under green sods lay.

> Once, while he nodded on a chair,

At the moth-hour of eve,

Another poor man sent for him,

And he began to grieve.

> "I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace,

For people die and die";

And after cried he, "God forgive!

My body spake, not I!"

> He knelt, and leaning on the chair

He prayed and fell asleep;

And the moth-hour went from the fields,

And stars began to peep.

> They slowly into millions grew,

And leaves shook in the wind;

And God covered the world with shade,

And whispered to mankind.

> Upon the time of sparrow chirp

When the moths came once more,

The old priest Peter Gilligan

Stood upright on the floor.

> "Mavrone, mavrone! The man has died,

While I slept on the chair";

He roused his horse out of its sleep,

And rode with little care.

> He rode now as he never rode,

By rocky lane and fen;

The sick man's wife opened the door:

"Father! you come again!"

> "And is the poor man dead?" he cried.

"He died an hour ago."

The old priest Peter Gilligan

In grief swayed to and fro.

> "When you were gone, he turned and died

As merry as a bird."

The old priest Peter Gilligan

He knelt him at that word.

> "He Who hath made the night of stars

For souls who tire and bleed,

Sent one of His great angels down

To help me in my need.

> "He who is wrapped in purple robes,

With planets in His care,

Had pity on the least of things

Asleep upon a chair."