At morning tide

At morning tide,

Upon the hill of Sliabh-na-mBan,

I saw the dead Christ glorified!

His body, like the risen sun,

Was all too bright to look upon:

The blue air burned

About him: in his side

And hands and feet there shone

(Thro' stabs and gashes gaping wide)

The golden glory of his blood:

The gilly stood

Upon his right hand: at his feet

The fishers, Peter, James and John,

Knelt worshipping

With outstretched arms, and eyes

To heaven turned:

And Maria, his mother sweet,

(The partner of his mysteries)

And Magdalen and Salome

Came thro' the doorway of the day

Behind him, weeping.

Then a cloud came o'er

My senses, and I saw and heard no more!