• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    5th March 2022

    Michael The Bard’s son Patrick Dan Mullin, passed away suddenly in Dublin aged 92.

    Patrick Dan was the driving force behind the publication of Michael’s poems. PD showed huge pride and honour when speaking of his father’s work and his stories and tales were always wonderful to hear.

    With his passing brings the end of an incredible generation of “The Bards”.

    It was an honour to have known and worked alongside this inspirational man.

    Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam

    In Memoriam

    We mourn the great departed:
    We mourn our chieftain gone:
    That Star hath set in Eirinn
    That long o’er Eirinn shone.

    The four sad winds of Eirinn
    Carry the wail afar,
    From the sad hearts in Eirinn
    To where our exiles are.

    God sent that Star to guide us
    On to His blest abode:
    While many a smooth road lured us
    From the rough, narrow road.

    God spared us long that Lighthouse
    Above the billows dark,
    When hidden rocks and tempests
    Threatened the struggling bark.

    His good and great achievement
    Have fashioned, high and broad
    A pyramid ascending
    From Eirinn up to God.

    No need for us to praise him
    To him earth’s praise was dross
    No need for us to mourn him:
    But, oh: we mourn our loss.

    A Star hath set in Eirinn:
    Still darkling on we grope:
    Lo! a new Star in heaven
    Filling our hearts with hope.

    MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘The Bard of Foremass’,
    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.

    Verse 4 –  bark or barque – a ship
    Verse 6 –   dross – refuse – of no value

    Cissie “The Bard” Mullin, Michael’s daughter in law passed away 23rd June 2021.

    She had a great devotion to the Sacred Heart.

    May God have mercy on her gentle Soul.

    O Sacred Heart of Jesus

    ‘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.”

    The Old Year dies to-night. With glee to-morrow
    We’ll see the New Year rise.
    But now we feel no joy; for we in sorrow
    Watch while the Old Year dies.

    Trees with uplifted arms, like priests, are praying
    For the departing one.
    Sadly the breeze on sylvan harps is playing
    For him whose race is run.

    We think of all the friends the year took from us;
    Of friends he sent our way;
    Of resolution kept, of broken promise:-
    We sigh and try to pray.

    He carried us along ‘mid pains and pleasures;
    Laden with gifts was he.
    Tonight we mourn inestimable treasures
    Squandered most recklessly.

    The glad, the sad, the dear old year is dying.
    In vain our sighs and tears.
    Oceans of teardrops, centuries of sighing
    Will not bring back dead years.

    MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘The Bard of Foremass’,
    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.