The Blessing

The Blessing

Mother went down to the Capuchin Church On the feast of the holy Saint Blaise; Her candles, her flannel were wrapped in her purse On her lips were the sweet words of praise.

I walked in her shadow, she went up the isle Sweet candle wax scenting the air; And I saw how serene was the edge of her smile; And the glint of the comb in her hair.

Chorus Tonight we’ll be singing like angels And our throats will be sweet as a bird’s For we have the blessing of his holy candles And the echo of those holy words.

Next day in the school when the Brother said ceol, I stood up with the song in my throat; With “The Minstrel Boy” — though the Rs wouldn’t roll From the lyrics we’re all learned by rote.

But I soared with the voice of a jackdaw or crow Out of key, out of time, out of breath, And the Brother’s thick leather, it soon let me know That Saint Blaise hadn’t worked his trick yet.

Chorus I went home and unrolled the flannel, I redid that blessing again, And I tapped Into some holy channel As I uttered that sweet word Amen!

Yeah! Tonight we’ll be singing like angels And our throats will be sweet as a bird’s, For we have the blessing of his holy candles And the echo of those holy words. — © Frank Callery, Feast of St. Blaise, Jan 2017