THE cottages all lie asleep; The sheep and lambs are folded in Winged sentinels the vale will keep Until the hours of life begin. The children with their prayers all said Sleep until cockcrow shall awake The gardens in their gold and red And robins in the bush and brake. The fields of harvest golden-white, The fields of pasture rich and green, Sleep on nor fear the kindly night, The watching mountains set between. The river sings its sleepy song, Nought stirs the wakeful owl beside: Our peace is builded sure and strong No evil beast can creep inside. St Patrick and St Brigid hold The vale its little houses all, While men-at-arms in white and gold Glide swiftly by the outer wall. St Brendan and St Kevin pluck The robes of God that He may hear— And Colum: "Keep the Irish flock So that no shame or sin come near." What news of Belgian folk to-day? How fare the village and the town? O Belgium`s all on fire they say, And all her towers are toppling down. What are her angels doing then, And are the Belgian saints asleep, That in this night of dule and pain The Belgians mourn, the Belgians weep?SourceThe script ran 0.002 seconds.
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