IN PRAISE OF ST. STEPHEN by THOMAS AUGUSTINE DALY

HERE'S the feast o' St. Stephen,
This Christmas Day's morrow,
An' it's past all believin'
The comfort I borrow
At the thought of him there
In the cold mornin' air,
An' meself steppin' back to a world full o' sorrow.

For with all the soft beauty
O' Christmas behind ye,
When it's back to cold duty
This day has consigned ye,
Faith, there's need of the aid
Of a saint unafraid
To withstand the blue devils that's likely to find ye.

Tall and bright is the miter
O' Stephen, the martyr;
A knight and a fighter
By Christ the Lord's charter.
And it's well if ye stand
Within touch of his hand
In a world that is given to traffic and barter.

Lucky you, if ye're wearin'
This saint's nomenclature,
For, belike, ye'll be sharin'
His valorous nature;
For there's none of his name
In the pages o' fame
That was anything less than a two-fisted crayture.

So upon this gray mornin',
In hope o' receivin'
His good help in the scornin',
O' groanin' and grievin',
Here's the ballad I raise
In the merited praise
Of the worshipful martyr and fighter, St.
Stephen!

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