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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342171" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Bid McCrae</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The church was wrapped in darkness save for the alter-light,<br>And save where near the marble rail six tapers glimmered bright<br>O’er waxen heavy-scented flowers and coffin plated deep,<br>Where the good wife, Mary Halloran lay in her last long sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her life, calm, pure and prosperous, had scarcely known a care;<br>Four sons, three daughters, she had reared – all sturdy, strong and fair,<br>All like their parents, kindly, plain and practical-save one<br>That rare soul, marked for graces high, the young priest - Father John.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His beautiful young face was lit by spirit-light within<br>A new St. Michael armed against the powers of wrath and sin-<br>And now he knelt and prayed alone, amid the church’s gloom,<br>And heard his mother’s well loved voice come from beyond the tomb:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Oh help me dearest son of mine to-night my soul has known<br>Our neighbours’ life is twined with ours; we cannot live alone;<br>My sins, our dear Lord has forgiven, their guilt is purged away,<br>But yet I cannot enter Heaven, because of Bid McCrae.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Young Father John thought hard and long, till memory came again,<br>Of the poor, shiftless outcast, Bid, who dwelt in Padgett’s Lane,<br>A stone’s throw from his Mother’s yard, the by-word of the street,<br>Good women turned away in scorn at passing of her feet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The gentle sisters often strove, with fond solicitude,<br>To bring to paths of light and peace bid’s wild and reckless brood;<br>And so, at Constance Halloran’s side, on first communion day,<br>Knelt little bright eyes Delia, the child of Bid McCrae.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Both pure souls, wrapt in loving awe, before the children’s King,<br>But ah, the coming, crowding years that swift temptations bring!<br>While Constance, safe and sheltered bloomed to happy girlhood bright.<br>Poor erring Delia’s wayward path knew sin’s un-holy blight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Blind in my selfish virtue wrapped I passed her all my days,<br>And god, He judgeth not as we – His ways are not our ways-“<br>Again his Mothers’ voice he heard, and read its message plain,<br>And Father John arose and sought the depths of Padgett’s Lane.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There by the dying sinner’s bed, he fought the powers of Hell-<br>Fought for the storm –tossed mother’s soul, the erring child as well<br>For kneeling by her mothers’ bed, the lamplight on her hair,<br>Poor broken-hearted Delia knelt in sorrow and despair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And strange deep thoughts had Father John-how full of charity!<br>How rich in golden gleams of good a sinner’s heart can be!<br>And ere the dawnlight flushed the sky, both had been reconciled-<br>Shriven and at rest the happy dead, and saved the wayward child.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Next night there came to father John a vision glad and bright:<br>He saw his gentle mother stand at Heaven’s portal bright,<br>And as the young priest raised his heart in humble fervent praise<br>To God, who judgeth not as we - whose ways are not our ways-<br>The storm-tossed outcast, bid McCrae, all shriven from her sin,<br>Stood at this saintly woman’s side, and smiled, and led her in.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alice+Guerin+Crist">Alice Guerin Crist</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342171" data-title="Bid McCrae de Alice Guerin Crist" data-description="The church was wrapped in darkness save for the alter-light,
And save where near the marble rail six tapers glimmered bright
O’er waxen heavy-scented flowers and coffin plated deep,
Where the good wife, Mary Halloran lay in her last long sleep.
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