Lead us, Sacred Heart of Jesus!
Up the narrow path;
Heart that’s ever, ever yearning,
For the prodigal’s returning,
Plead for us till Love appeases
The Eternal wrath;
Lead us, Sacred Heart of Jesus!
Up the narrow path.
Guide us, Sacred Heart of Jesus!
When the night is dark;
When the waves are tempest-ridden,
And when danger reefs lie hidden,
Thick as leaves in autumn’s breezes,
Round our labouring bark;
Guide us. Sacred Heart of Jesus!
When the night is dark.
For us, Sacred Heart of Jesus!
Thou wert crucified –
Thou, Love’s Fountain o’erflowing,
Thou, Love’s Furnace ever glowing,
Thou in Whom the Father pleases
To be satisfied;
For us, Sacred Heart of Jesus!
Thou wert crucified.
Nothing, Sacred Heart of Jesus!
Fairer is than Thee;
Beautiful in all completeness,
Concentration of all sweetness,
Power from Whom the soul’s diseases
And all evils flee –
Nothing, Sacred Heart of Jesus!
Fairer is than Thee.
Make us, Sacred Heart of Jesus!
Worthy of Thy Love –
Worthy of Thy sure protection;
Make our souls Thine Own reflection,
Borne aloft by heavenly breezes
To thy home above;
Make us, Sacred Heart of Jesus!
Worthy of Thy Love.

‘Tis a simple little prayer
And it isn’t hard to say
You can say it anywhere,
In the night or in the day;
And the oftener you say it
The better you shall be;
‘Tis “Sacred Heart of Jesus
I place my trust in Thee.”
It makes your crosses lighter,
It softens every pain
It makes your soul grow whiter
Until the crown you gain.
‘Twill grow to be your sweetest song
On air or land or sea
“Sacred Heart of Jesus
I place my trust in Thee.”

He knelt by a grave where forget-me-nots grew
In the shape of a cross, a beautiful blue.
His pain too poignant, his anguish too deep,
His woe too intense – not one tear could he weep.
The tears might have softened the sobs hard and dry;
And yet not a single tear moistened his eye.

He mused: “From blest bowers in God’s lovely town,
I know Mary often looks lovingly down
On me, her true lover, heart-broken and sad,
Whom she loved as a man, and admired as a lad.
And I know that she’ll meet me and greet me again
In that land where there’s neither sin, sorrow nor pain.

And I’m sure that true lovers God joined here below
Will join hands again where God’s white Lilies grow.
For true love’s immortal, true love will not die,
While the true God of true love is reigning on high”

Footnote: This poem was written about his wife’s grave in Dunmoyle. Michael walked to Dunmoyle every day. First from Shane and latter from Foremass.