Poetry: An Naoidhe Naomh by Aodh Mac Aingil
God greet You, sacred Child,
poor in the manger there,
yet happy and rich tonight
in your stronghold in glory.
Motherless once in Heaven,
Fatherless now in our world,
true God at all times You are,
but tonight You are human first.
Grant room in Your cave, O King,
to this third brute
among the mountain dogs
-for my nature was ever like theirs.
Mary, Virgin and Mother,
Open the stable door
Till I worship the King of Creation.
Why not I more than the ox?
I will do God’s service here,
watchful early and late.
I will chase the hill-boys’ dogs
away from this helpless Prince.
The ass and the ox, likewise
I will not let near my King;
I will take their place beside Him,
ass and cow of the living God!
In the morning I’ll bring him water.
I’ll sweep God’s Son’s poor floor.
I’ll light a fire in my cold soul
and curb with zeal my wicked body.
I’ll wash his poor garments for Him
and, Virgin, if you let me,
I’ll shed these rags of mine
As a covering for your Son.
And I’ll be the cook for His food.
I’ll be doorman for the God of Creation!
On behalf of all three I’ll beg,
since they need my help to speak.
No silver or gold I’ll ask
But a daily kiss for my King.
I will give my heart in return
And He’ll take it from all three.
Patrick, who through this Child
by grace got Jesus’ crozier
-O born without body’s bile-
And Bridget… be with us always.
Patron of the Isle of Saints,
obtain God’s graces for us.
Receive a poor friar from Dún
As a worm in God’s cave tonight.
A thousand greetings in body tonight
from my heart to my generous King.
In that He assumed two natures
here’s a kiss and a greeting to God!
Dia do bheatha, a Naoidhe naoimh,
san mainséar do chlaon do chorp
gidh meadhrach is saidhbheir Tú
’s glórmhar id dhún féin anocht.
Ar neamh Dhíbh gan mháthair riamh:
gan athair ’nar n-iath anocht;
it fhírDhia riamh atá tú:
is id dhuine ar dtús anos.
Tabhair, a Rí, gidh nach ceart,
áit id thuamuidh don treas brúit,
a measg na ngaedhar ón tsliabh,
rér chosmhuile riamh ar ndúl.
A Mhuire, a mháthair, a ógh,
oscail doras an chró dhamh
Go n-adhrainn ardrí na ndúl-
Nach córa dhúinn ná do dhamh?
Do-ghéan seirbhIs do Dhia I bhfos,
Faire go moch is go mall;
Gadhair na mbuachaill ón tsliabh
Bualifead ón triath atá fann.
An t-asal fós is an damh
Ní leigfead I ngar don rígh;
Do-ghéan féin a n-áistsin dó-
Asal mé is bó Mhic Dé Bhí.
Do-bhéar usice liom go moch,
Scuabfad urlár bocht Mhic Dé;
Do-ghéan teine im anam fhuar
‘s tréigfead tré dhúthracht mo chorp claon.
Nighfead a bhochtbhréide dhó,
Is dá dtuga, a ógh, cead damh,
mo cheirt féin do bhainfinn díom
dá cur mar dhíon ar do mhac.
Biad mar chócaire ‘gan bhiadh
‘s im dhoirseoir do Dhia na ndúl,
‘s ó tá orthu fo mór m-fheidhm,
iarrfad fair mo dhéirc do thriúr.
Ní iarrfad airgead ná ór
Acht uair san ló póg dom rígh;
Do-bhéar mo chroidhe féin uaim
‘s glacfaidh é mar luach an trír.
A Phádraig ón leanbhsa fuair
bachall Íosa mar bhuaidh grás,
A ghein gan domblas id chlí,
‘s a Bhrighid, bí linn de ghnáth.
A phátrúin oiléan na naomh,
faghaidh grása ó Dhia dhúinn;
Mar chruimh in uamhaidh Dé a-nocht
glacthar bráithrín bocht ó Dhún.
Míle fáilte a-nocht I gclí
Le mo chroidhe dom rígh fial;
In dá nádúir ó do-chuaidh,
póg is fáilte uaim do Dhia.