An Bhuatais (Aor an tSagairt)
Diarmaid Na Bolgaí Ó Sé
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| AN BHUATAIS (AOR AN TSAGAIRT) Ailliliú, a dhuine a chruinnigh an t-ualach, Ar mhiste leat gluaiseacht nó an mairfir go brách? Bágún dod chistin a dh’oirfeadh rómhór duit Is má chuirtear san uaigh leat é codail go sámh. Dá mhéad iad do dhlithe, d’ionmhas is d’ualach Chífidh tú an tuama romhat lán de na cnámh’. Ach de réir mar a thuigim do shentence an uair úd, Ní thabharfairse an bhuatais go Flaithis na nGrás. Is dóigh liom gur chodail tí i gcraiceann mhic tíre Is an t-ainspiorad coimhthíoch ag faire ar do bhráid. Ná déan dia ded bholg i bhfochair na ndaoine, Nó an bhfeiceann tú Gaeil bhocht’ le heasnamh ag fáil bháis? D’aithníos ar do dhochma lá croite na síol dom Nach raibh do chroíse istigh ag smaoineamh ar eagla an bháis. Ach an crann a mbíonn an toradh air ní airím go gcríonann, Is go bhfóire go caoin é Mac Mhuire na nGrás. Mo ghrá, mo lagar, i mbranar ag gluaiseacht Ní chloisim aon duan duit i bhFlaitheas na nGrás; Ní airím ná meamram cneasta ná stuama, Ó chailleadh Eoghan Rua bocht, níl a bharra le fáil. An té thabharfadh bliain ar an leaba i ngalar is i gcruatan, Is a d’éireodh ina sheasamh ag grafadh is ag bualadh, Is ná smaoineodh ar Aifreann beannaithe an Uanmhic, A shaorfadh ón gcruatan a anam lá an ghá. A bhráthair, gach filleadh a thuillis go buacach, Chífidh tú an buachaill marbh ar chlár, Cordaí go daingean á cheangal ar ghuaillibh, Go gcuirfear san uaigh é le hualach ón rámhainn; Nó ar fhéach tú go minic ar dhuine a bhí i gcruatan? Gheobhaidh tú do dhualgas, mar a mheasaim, lá an bháis; Raghair sna Flaithis gan hata gan bhuatais, Ach cochall ró-uasal anuas ort go sáil. Ailliliú, a dhuine, chonaic tú na mílte, Is ní fhaca tú Íosa a d’fhulaing an Pháis Ar Chranna na Croise is an chonairt á dheoladh Mar a mbíodh an fhuil ghlórmhar ina ceathanna ar lár. A Ríon dil na cruinne tríd’ bhroinn gur seoladh Le haoibhneas do bhrollaigh ba mhilis a thóg É; An té dhein fíon den uisce ní bhainfidh sé an choróin díot, A Bhanríon na Glóire, mar thuillis í a fháil. Ni mhaireann Peadar ba chalma, Séamus, Ná Aindriú ba néata dár shiúlaigh i mbróig, Mathghamhain a’s Pilib a’s aon-mhac Alphéus, Síomón ró-naofa, Jude agus Eoin; Nach iad siúd an fhoireann a chonaic Zaccheus Ins an gcrann a’s é ag feitheamh ar dhlithibh an Aon-Mhic. Is dóigh liom, a dhuine, ná tuigeann tú an Ghréigis, Caith díot an éide mara leanair Naomh Pól! | The Boot Indeed my good sir, who would heap up the riches From Death's call there's no power a person can save. Though the hams in your kitchen be sweet and be tasty They'll give you small comfort when you're in your grave! Though great are your powers, your esteem and your lasting The tomb lies in wait at the end of the road And then you will find that, unless I'm mistaken, You'll not need your boots in your future abode. Pretend not your gruffness conceals your good nature. The devil is waiting and won't be deceived. Don't worship your belly and offer it sweetmeats While the poor faint with hunger and die unrelieved. I knew by your face on the day of the sowing That the harvest you craved was not the true one. The Tree that bore fruit has never grown older Its burden is still - as it was- Mary's son. For he who lies down in illness and sorrow But rises next day to plough land and sow seed Will not think at all of the Mass and its graces Which would save his poor soul in the day of its need. Indeed my good man you have seen many people But you never saw Jesus who suffered the Passion On the arms of the cross with the dogs snapping at Him While His Blood showered round in most prodigal fashion. Gone now is brave Peter and James is gone with him And Andrew - no finer man ever wore shoe Matthew and Philip and also Alphaeus, Simon the Blessed, St John and St Jude. All these were the people who witnessed Zaccheus In a tree as he waited Our Lord's blessed call. Forgotten your Greek? Then I'd like to remind you: Abandon your cloth or else follow St Paul. |
