Flame Offering
In the name of the three Brigits
I light the candle of my heart
May I offer it to everyone
gentle and steady
warm and bright
I
see You
I
see You,
In
chaos and in peace
There
You are,
Never
bending.
I
see Your face
Like
lightning,
Blinding
me
If
only
For
a second.
I
hear it,
The
pounding of hammers
On
hot metal,
The
sizzle of sweat
Boiling
as it hits the flame.
Oh
yes, I hear it.
And
I know You,
Sun
Woman,
Fiery
Arrow,
Sacred
Flame.
I’ve
known You forever.
I
feel Your heart,
Beating
and burning so closely
To
my own.
And
with that I know
I
am Yours
By
Johnny Jeansonne
“St. Brigid”
Oh,
she was fair as a lily,
And holy as she was fair,
The Virgin Mary of Erin,
Brigid of green Kildare;
She came to earth when the snowdrops
Were starring the rain-drenched sod,
The sweetest blossom among them
From the far-off gardens of God.
And
over the haunted mountains
Where Druids still watch and pray
A dawn-wind wakened and whispered:
“Give praise to the Lord today,
For to you a child is given
Whose name in the days to be,
Will flame like a torch eternal
From uttermost sea to sea,
And her life, like a surge of incense
From the alter of your green sod,
Will fashion a stair forever
From Ireland up to God.”
O
Brigid, so high and holy!
So strong in womanly grace,
Look down from the sills of Heaven
Today on your olden race.
‘Tis over the world we’re scattered,
And your land is a land of woe,
But we’re holding you as a lodestar
Whatever the roads we know.
For
you are our pledge in Heaven,
With Phadrig and Columcille,
For the faith of our foes unbroken
And the hopes that they could not still;
For the surge of our prayers unceasing,
For the depth of our love unpriced.
For our agony in earth’s garden
And our crucifixion with Christ.
And
we cry to you, holy Brigid,
‘Tis you have the right to pray
For us and the land of Erin
In the hour of our need today.
We breathe your name as a symbol,
Like the lamp on your alter set,
That God is an unforgetting God
And will stand for our righting yet;
Yea, He, who so long has tried us
In the flame of His purging fire,
Will give to the race of Brigid yet
The crown of their soul’s desire.
Theresa Brayton (1868 - 1943) was a poet and an Irish Republican who participated in the 1916 rebellion. (Kevin
Kennedy sings her song, ‘The Old Bog
Road.’) Moving to the U.S.A. and marrying a French Canadian, she was well known in
Irish American circles.
Poem published in Leinster
Leader 2 February 1941, republished on Co. Kildare Online Electronic History Journal, 2 January 2009.
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Brigit's blessings.
Mael Brigde
Every now and then we ask where a certain association of Brigit's arises from. Recently it was the swan. Here is one answer, from Carmina Gadelica, Vol. 1, edited by Alexander Carmichael, in Scottish Gaelic first, and then in English.
Eala bhan a ghlugaid bhinn,
Odhra sgaireach nan ciabh donn,
Cha ghear thu it as an druim,
Gu la-bhrath, air bharr nan tonn.
Air an ite bitheadh iad a ghnath
Mu 'n cuir thu lamhaidh ri do chluais,
Is bheir Moire mhin-gheal dhut dha gradh,
Is bheir Bride aluinn dhut dha buar.
Chan ith thu farasg no blianach,
No aon ian nach leag do lamh,
Bi-sa taingeil leis an aon-fhear,
Ge do robh a naodh air snamh.
Eala shith Bhride nan ni,
Lacha shith Mhoire na sith.
The white swan of the sweet gurgle,
The speckled dun of the brown tuft,
Thou shalt not cut a feather from their backs,
Till the doom-day, on the crest of the wave.
On the wing be they always
Ere thou place missile to thine ear,
And the fair Mary will give thee of her love,
And the lovely Bride will give thee of her trine.
Thou shalt not eat fallen fish nor fallen
flesh,
Nor one bird that thy hand shall not bring down,
Be thou thankful for the one,
Though nine should be swimming.
The fairy swan of Bride of flocks,
The fairy duck of Mary of peace.
Brigid in the Year of 2020
O Brigid,
I stand in front
of your altar
Daily
Sometimes not so
present
All sleepy-eyed
and foggy headed
Wondering what to
do next
If anything.
This year
Was an endless
parade of
“What now?”
Yet I always spent
time with you
Asking for
guidance
Hoping you would
light the way
If anything.
I kept
The offerings
plentiful
Weekly
Brought items of
nature
Praying that now
you would
Grant me some
answers
If anything.
So now
The end of the
year is nigh
You were there
So subtle I didn’t
always notice
Guiding, teaching,
answering
With much
gratitude, I am more faithful
If anything.
Image: by Vince Fleming on Unsplash
on its surface
skims her reflected
face
(no other mirror
desired)
no more the red blush
of well-washed severed
heads
by the healing waters
madness dampened
illness quenched
good winds called
drive fish and
fishermen to meet
she drinks the dear
water
cleans protects
tends
her whole life through
the holy well
Brigid at Avalon, a poem
by Hayley Arrington
She prayed to the Magdalene
At her Chapel near the Tor.
Bright Woman of no sin,
What is it you pray for?
Do you pray for the summer sun
To never dim or fade?
Do you pray for the faerie folk
Who run in the magic glade?
Goddess, Woman, Saint
Bright Woman of flame and well
Stir you cauldron, weave you spell
You were born on a threshold,
Neither in nor out.
You dried your cloak on a sunbeam.
You sang to the little trout.
You heal the ill,
Restore the blind’s sight,
Come to me at Brigid’s Hill.
Come, Goddess of the light.
Goddess, Woman, Saint
Bright Woman of flame and well
Stir you cauldron, weave you spell
Image: Saint Brigit milking her cow, Glastonbury. Uncredited.
