As I jog to the bog for a load of peat,
The August sun goes up.
And the morning’s bracing breeze is sweet
As hither it hastes with a laugh to greet
Me on the mountain top.
‘Tis good to gaze on this purple cloak
Over the mountain flung;
“Tis bliss to escape from the city smoke.
And to live the life of the country folk –
The folk from whom I’ve sproung.
Now we have climbed to the mountain
Now from this old bog road
I, on a beautiful map, look down
Valley and hill and village and town;
A masterpiece of God.
Long sick of the city that cramps the soul
My buoyant spirit runs
From east to west, from pole to pole,
And where undiscovered planets roll
Round yet undreamt of suns.
As I jog to the bog for a load of peat
I wing the world above;
And I feel like a lark that soars to greet
With a glad song of love.
Michael Mullin’, ‘The Bard of Foremass’
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.