Green Book Of Meditations Volume 6 The Books of Songs - Student ...

The Falling Asleep of the Mother of God
(A Poem by Mary Siegle for August 15th)
For the children, so that they will know what feast it is today,
and how the ancient festival time came to be given to the virgin.
She fell asleep today.
The Mother of God-
She who wept so-
Madre Dolorosa!
She fell asleep today.
And the angels came.
They bore her up on a breath of wind.
A sky-blue cloak
Of air against air against air-
To heaven the fairies bore her up.
She who wept so-
On this day she was taken up.
Mother don't weep today.
See, we'll take this festival for you.
See, this feast is yours.
Our Lady of the Harvest,
The first fruits are yours.
The 13 Days of Samhain
Words by the Berkeley Grove
Sung to the traditional tune
On the first day of Samhain,
the cailleach sent to me:
a lios in County Tipperary.
On the second day of Samhain,
the cailleach sent to me:
two water-horses
and a lios in County Tipperary.
Three Mor-Rioghna
Four Pooks
Five Silver branches
Six pipers piping
Seven harpers harping
Eight hunters riding
Nine Sidhe a-sighing
Ten Druids scrying
Eleven washer-women
Twelve mortals dying
Thirteen beansidhes crying.
The Woad Song
Authorship unknown
(But obviously English!)
Sung to the traditional tune
of "Men of Harlech"
What's the use of wearing braces,
Hat and spats and shoes with laces,
Coats and vests you find in places
Down on Brompton Road?
What the use of shirts of cotton,
Studs that always get forgotten?
These affairs are simply rotten-
Better far is woad.
323
Woad's the stuff to show men-
Woad to scare your foeman!
Boil it to a brilliant blue
And rub it on your chest and your abdomen!
Men of Britain never hit on
Anything as good as woad to fit on
Neck or knee or where you sit on
Tailors, you be blowed!
Romans came across the Channel,
All dressed up in tin and flannel.
Half a pint of woad per man'll
Clothe us more than these.
Saxons, you may save your stitches,
Building beds for bugs in britches;
We have woad to clothe us, which is
Not a nest for fleas!
Romans, keep your armors;
Saxons, your pajamas.
Hairy coats were made for goats,
Gorillas, yaks, retriever dogs and llamas!
March on Snowdon with your woad on-
Never mind if you get rained or snowed on-
Never need a button sewed on...
All you need is woad!!
The Gods of the West
Words by Chwerthin
Sung to the traditional tune of
"The Men of the West"
1
When you honor in song and in story
The Gods of our old Pagan kin,
Whose blessings did cover with glory
Full many a mountain and glen;
Forget not the Gods of our ancestors,
Who'll rally our bravest and best,
When Ireland is Christian and bleeding,
And looks for its hope to the West.
Chorus:
So here's to the Gods of our ancestors,
Who'll rally our bravest and best,
When Ireland is Christian and bleeding-
Hurrah! for the Gods of the West.
2
Oh the Shee hills with glory will shine then,
On the eve of our bright Freedom Day;
When the Gods we've been wearily waiting,
Sail back from the Land of the Fey!
And over Ireland rise the Druids,
Awakening in every breast,
A fire that can never be quenched, friends,
Among the true Gaels of the West.
3
Dublin will be ours 'ere the midnight,
And high over ever town,
Our Heathen prayers then will be floating
Before the next sun has gone down.
We'll gather, to speed the good work, our friends,
The Heathen from near and afar,
And history will watch us expel ALL