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s gaze -- Her contrite spirit's gaze -- Moved all the
mysteries of her daysAnd histories of her deeds.
Still as a shadowwhile she weptSo desolately weptUp thro' the
longlone aisle she crept Unto an altar fair; "Mother!" -- her pale lips
said no more -- Could say no more -- The wreckat lastreached Mercy's
shoreFor Mary's shrine was there.
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Father Ryan's Poems
31
A Land without Ruins
A land without ruins is a land without memories -- a land
without memories is a land without history. A land that wears a laurel
crown may be fair to see; but twine a few sad cypress leaves around the
brow of any landand be that land barrenbeautiless and bleakit
becomes lovely in its consecrated coronet of sorrowand it wins the
sympathy of the heart and of history. Crowns of roses fade -- crowns
of thorns endure. Calvaries and crucifixions take deepest hold of
humanity -- the triumphs of might are transient -- they pass and are
forgotten -- the sufferings of right are graven deepest on the chronicle
of nations.
Yes give me the land where the ruins are spreadAnd the living tread
light on the hearts of the dead; Yesgive me a land that is blest by the dust
And bright with