No, child; they are the children of the fiend,
And they have power until the end of Time,
When God shall fight with them a great pitched battle
And hack them into pieces.

MAIRE BRUIN.

He will smile,
Father, perhaps, and open his great door,

FATHER HART.

Did but the lawless angels see that door
They would fall, slain by everlasting peace;
And when such angels knock upon our doors
Who goes with them must drive through the same storm.

[_A knock at the door._ MAIRE BRUIN _opens it and then goes to the
dresser and fills a porringer with milk and hands it through the door
and takes it back empty and closes the door._

MAIRE BRUIN.

A little queer old woman cloaked in green
Who came to beg a porringer of milk.

BRIDGET BRUIN.

The good people go asking milk and fire