The reapers are mowing in Foremass meadows;
The sunbeams are chasing away the shadows
O’er fence and field;
The sweet winds are harping on branch and bramble,
That makes around us where we ramble
A pleasant shield.

We know by the gold with the green grain blending
That autumn is near us, and summer ending.
And in the hush –
While hearing the reapers in meadows mowing,
And turf carts o’er the white roads going –
We fondly wish.

That God may guide us through Foremass meadows,
By its rivers and roads, ‘mid the deep’ning shadows
Of Eventide;
With friends that we trust, and our loved ones near us,
And these dear scenes to soothe and cheer us
Down Life’s hillside.

–

Michael Mullin

‘The Bard of Foremass’

Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.