Smooring the Fire


Smooring The Fire

I smoor the fire this night
As the Son of Mary would smoor it;
The compassing of God be on the fire,
The compassing of God on all the household.

Be God’s compassing about ourselves,
Be God’s compassing about us all,
Be God’s compassing upon the flock,
Be God’s compassing upon the hearth.

Who keeps watch this night?
Who but the Christ of the poor,
The bright and gentle Brigit of the kine,
The bright and gentle Mary of the ringlets.

Whole be house and herd,
Whole be son and daughter,
Whole be wife and man,
Whole be household all.

(smooring = smothering)

Next Page


(Celtic Poems)       (Irish Poets)     (The Great Poets)

photo Credit: Natabara