_Far away's the country, and the seas are wild_
_That you must voyage over, grown man or chrisom child,_
_O'er leagues of land and water a weary way you'll go_
_Before you'll find the country where the blue roses grow._

_But O, and O, the roses are very strange and fair,_
_You'd travel far to see them, and one might die to wear,_
_Yet, far away's the country, and perilous the sea,_
_And some may think far fairer the red rose on her tree._

_Far away's the country, and strange the way to fare,_
_Far away's the country--O would that I were there!_
_It's on and on past Whinny Muir and over Brig o' Dread._
_And you shall pluck blue roses the day that you are dead._




"THE NICHT ATWEEN THE SANCTS AN' SOULS"


ALL-SOULS: KATHERINE TYNAN

The door of Heaven is on the latch
To-night, and many a one is fain
To go home for one night's watch
With his love again.

Oh, where the father and mother sit
There's a drift of dead leaves at the door