I see his blood upon the rose
And in the stars the glory of his eyes;
His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.
I see his face in every flower;
The thunder and the singing of the birds
Are but his voice - and carven by his power,
Rocks are his written words.
All pathways by his feet are worn,
His strong heart stirs the ever beating sea,
His crown of thorns is twined in every thorn
His cross is every tree.
(written by Joseph M. Plunkett, 1916)
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