Afterglow
A magic wrought of dying dreams
A wizard light that creeps and glows;
Painting grey hills and sluggish streams
In tints of gold and rose
Staining with fire the cherry-snow
Lighting our hearts with sudden flame
As if the love of long ago
Back from its ashes came
Rose-flushed and radiant everything
And joy and hope are born anew;
Even the darting swallow's wing
Has caught its glowing hue
Ah! swift it dies from hill and plain...
Be wise dear heart and let me go;
Not love that lit our hearts again -
Only it's afterglow!
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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Resurrection
All rank on rank the tall white lillies stood,
The graceful palms against the rose-flushed sky
Showed gemmed with dew-drops, and red poppies glowed
Through the rank grass near by.
All hushed the air was - rapt and clear and still
The earth, late racked with pain
Felt it's insensate form with rapture thrill
And hope was born again
But in that garden there was silence deep,
All nature waited - till a ringing cry
'Rabboni! Master!' cleft the dewey air,
And swift the listening sky
Flashed into splendour, and the sun leaped up
And all creation thrilled with joy new-born
Hailing Our risen Lord with ectasy
On that first Easter morn.
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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A Letter From Palestine
A letter from “The East” it came today,
And all the house is lightened of its gloom:
A sun-browned desert wind through every room
Eddies, and bring strange scents of old bazaare;
Of orange-groves beneath the dreaming stars
O’er far Jerusalem. Through these ordered rooms
Where poppies glow and pale narcissi blooms
Nod in tall vases, sings the desert breeze
Telling of brown battalion overseas.
Khaki-clad soldiers, singing as they go
Along the road to Gaza, and we know
The very breath of freedom’s in the air
With their gay boast, “Australia will be there”
Mateship and courage, loyalty and truth
The very essence of Australian youth!
We have no fears! serene in faith we pray
For those dear gallant lads so far away.
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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Adventure
We found one evening, in the scrub,
a road the timber-getters made,
a winding, dim, mysterious track,
and we raced down it, half afraid.
The wild-hop vines grew high aloft,
a winter's chill was in the air,
and trailing sarsaparilla swung
it's purple glory everywhere.
Then, curled within a hollow stump
down in a gully dim and deep,
we held our breaths with awe to find
four dingo puppies fast asleep!
We stroked them, trembling, for we knew
that somewhere in the forest dim,
there lurked amid the gathering shades
the gaunt old mother, fierce and grim.
[...] Read more
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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Fairies
They don’t believe in fairies,
Those old folk wide and staid,
They’ve never caught the glitter
Of their wings in forest shade.
For them the bush is just a place
Of timber, cows and corn,
They’ve never been up our creek
On a cool November morn.
From mossy banks all dotted
With violets breaking through,
Beneath the frondled maidenhair
Their shy eyes peep at you.
They sleep ‘neath tasselled tea-trees,
The drowsy summer day,
Where the tiny crimson love-birds
Around them dart and play.
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poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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Christmas Welcome
Under the wintry skies,
Sundered from home and kin,
With patience and love in her eyes,
Mary is journeying.
The angels keep watch and ward,
And Joseph is there to guard,
But – ‘there is no room at the inn.”
No room in the inns of Life,
No place for Christ the King,
Through the Heavens with joy are rife,
Where worshipping angels sing,
In palace, and street and mart,
In the worlds great pagan heart
There is no welcoming.
But in far cathedrals dim,
Where Christmas lilies bloom
‘Mid incense and holy hymn,
And tapers lighting the gloom,
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poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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Grass
The world is all one smother of grass,
Waves of it rolling deep and green,
Clothing the paddocks’ gentle slope,
Laughing the brown tree-trunks between.
And some are praising the brilliant flowers,
The beauty of foliage as they pass,
But I am drinking its glory in
And thanking the Lord for grass, for grass!
The air is a-murmur with rippling sound
From jubilant creeks long fed with rain,
Singing of drought and travail past
And a bounteous earth drown young again-
An earth that is telling its thankfulness
With passionate rapture too deep for words
In acres and acres of waving grass,
Haven of promise to starving herds.
There’s a tangle of bloom in its moist green shade,
Mottled yam-flowers and gentians blue,
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poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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November in Ireland
November days in Ireland
The skies are dull and grey,
But Oh! The clear strong flame of love,
That burns by night and day.
As swift and bright the whispered prayers fly to the Heavens O'erhead,
From faithful hearts in Ireland, remembering their dead.
No primroses or cowslips now,
But cold November rain,
No hawthorns in the hedges,
Till Spring comes round again,
But roses bloom in chapels lone and cabins far apart
Dear rosaries of remembrance said to Mary's loving heart.
"For all the Holy Souls we pray,
God give them peace and light
For the brave boys that died for us,
We pray both day and night.
We can feel their presence near us-we can hear their voices call,
For the dead folk in Ireland are the 'livest' of us all"
[...] Read more
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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A Dream Of Heaven
They tell of harps and golden crowns, and singing,
But oh, I think, when ends the strife and pain,
That our dear Lord will lead the souls that love Him
Where are green grass and trees, and soft spring rain;
Where are no scorching suns, or skies drought-blazing,
But dear grey clouds with sunshine stealing through
In level rays, o’er distant wooded valleys,
And still green pools, with waterlilies blue.
And those who sought to save drought-ridden creatures,
And struggled bravely with the grim old earth,
The God of all true hearts will surely give them
Rest from their labours in a new world’s birth:
When they shall feel the fresh wind in their faces,
Fragrant with clover scents and summer shower,
And they shall praise Him in green silent places,
Who, like St. Francis, loved each tree and flower;
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poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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Brother Wind
“I thank my god for brother wind,”
So prayed St. Francis long ago
In words of simple, joyous praise,
That fill my heart with sudden glow
As-braced by winter’s icy draught-
With singing soul, and strengthened mind,
I humbly join the good Saint’s prayer
Thank my God for “Brother Wind.”
For Brother Wind, who, whispering soft
Brings subtlest perfume on his wings,
The violet scent of childhood days,
The lost delight in simple things;
For Brother wind, who whistling keen
O’er open plain and storm-scarred hill,
Cleanses from mind, and heart, and brain,
All thoughts of wrong, and ancient ill.
Who wafts from scarce-stirred lily beds
Incense of early purity,
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poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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