• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    The Holy Year

    Now nineteen centuries have passed away
    Since the events we chronicle to-day;
    Since Jesus Christ gave proof of greatest love
    On earth below, or in the heavens above;

    Since God the Son, our Saviour, King of Kings,
    Co-equal to the Father in all things,
    Suffered a dreadful death, and wiped away
    That debt of sin which man could never pay.

    Let Love and Faith inspire me while I show
    This awful tragedy of long ago –
    The saddest chapter in the book of Time,
    And yet the noblest and the most sublime.

    The gentle God-man moves among the crowd,
    That ever grows. Not arrogant and proud,
    But kind and loving, he with thrilling voice
    Commends the meek. He bids the sad rejoice.

    With pleading tones He calls each erring soul.
    He points the path; and promises the Goal.
    He shows the grandeur and the beauty of
    The greatest of all laws, the law of Love.

    What miracles He works! He heals the sick.
    He makes the blind to see, the dumb to speak,
    The deaf to hear. He gives the weary rest.
    He drives out devils from the souls possessed.

    The storms obey Him. And from out the tomb
    He calls the dead to life, and the dead come.
    And still the crowds grow; and the heavens ring,
    As multitudes hurrah for Christ the King.

    Soon the scene changes. Enemies are now
    So jealous of His glory that they vow
    To speed His overthrow. They hover night.
    Already in their hearts He’s doomed to die.

    Birds have their nests: ever the beasts that roam
    Wild through the woods, have in those woods a home;
    But that same God Who raised to life the dead,
    Hath nowhere now to rest His Sacred Head.

    Sad is His mother, Mary, pure and mild;
    While men, like wolves are howling for her Child –
    Her Child, her King of earth and heaven above –
    The Child she loves with more than mother love.