Thought
Born from slave’s free destiny,
She offered heart so willingly,
That the poor did well avail,
Calling her their Muire na nGael.
Precious father’s sword she gave,
For from hunger poor man save.
Wherever Brigid’s tokens travel,
Woven cross resolves the quarrel.
Abbey and church in Kildare
As mother, she presided there,
Leading men and women both,
Inspiring spring from winter’s sloth.
Saint Brigid’s miracles and stories,
Regaled with accounts of glories,
Ignites hope in desperate times,
Raising spirits, hearts and minds.
Prayer
O Lord, thy miracles and wonders are everywhere, but I am blind to them caught up as I am in my selfish cocoon. Many want Thy rewards, but few want to bear even a small cross. Many want to join the feast, but few want to share the fast. Grant that I may be with thee and thee with me pleased with each other’s company through every joy and vicissitude.
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