The Irish standard., 1902-08-16
FATHER ABRAM j. RYAN.
A Few Gems by the Poet Priest Of
the South.

CARDS as poems of ethics rather than
of doctrine. Father Abram j. RYAN
was the poet Of The South, but was
comparatively unknown until after the
close Of the civil war.
The writer in the Freeman says his
poems are principally Of the lyrical
order, often defective in spanish and
rhythm but never destitute of music
or imagery OF Il fascinating nature.
y more ethereal poem than the one
in which the following stlnza is found
has never been written, and therefore
never read:
But far on the deep there are pillows
That never shall break Oh the beach,
And L have heard Sings in the silence
That never shall ilolt into speech;
And l have had dreams i'll the valley
Too lofty for language to reach.'
Beautiful thoughts and feelings per-
wade not only his Song OF the Mys-
TIC but it may be said all the poems
that he has left us to read and enjoy,
as the following extracts will show:
Speaking of those of Il kindred na-
lure with himself he says:
They are like angels, but some angels
fell.
While some did keep their place,
Their poems are like the gates of
heaven or hell,
And God or Satan's face
Then, referring to the powers Of OBJ
servation, consequent upon the pos
session of a two-fold sight, he says:
''They read the human face
AS readers read page,
The while their thoughts will trace
a life from youth to age"
On the knowledge of the fact that
II prophet is not without honor save
in his own country" he alludes to I'M
recognized talent i'll the lines we quote
us being strikingly true:
How many Il flower was blooming
there
In beauty, yet without n name,
Like humble llrearts that often bear
Tie gifts, but not the palm Of fame"
While Il man of refined and exalted
feelings, and one therefore that had
more or less to live to himself, still
he knew what man was the victim of,
as we'll rs the custodian of, wrote ac-
cor(lngly:
Life is Il burden, bear it,
Life is duty, dare it,
Life is Il thorn crown, wear it,"
But while thus holding up his fel-
low-crcatura as an afflicted, endowed
and responsible being. at the same
time he speaks of him as being envir-
oncd by Il power over which he has no
control. Hence the worse:
"For guard we as we may,
What is to he will be.
The dark must fold each day,
The stone must grid each sea-"
Lord Byron and other celebrated
poets have done much to embuuy for
us the feelings that are awakened by
the grasping of the hand for the last
time; but it is doubtful ii ever Il
more appropriate ur realistic verse has
dropped from the pen Of Il man than
the one that has been given us by the
poet-pricst of the South on parting:
"Good-bye! that word makes faces
pa!c
And fills the sou! with fears,
Good bye. two words that wing u
vail
Which nutters down the years.
With the subject of sorrow he deals
frequently and COMPREHENSIVE, and
only us Il man of thought and feeling
could deal with it. Kcenly alive to its
prevalence in the world, yet he knew
it had its Uses. ana writes as fol
lows:
no day shall return that has faded,
The dead como not back from tn"
tomb
The vale of each lif, must be shaded,
That we may see best from the
gloom
That the Rev. Abram Ryan wis
| ever the victim of Il dcep-scat2d sor-
row we have no reason to believe, but
all the same he WIS aware that in the
| breasts of some there abidcs Il pain
that is too deep to find expression
! either through the eye or the hand.
F! INhis he knew as one who was rs able
to enter into the feelings of others as
he was to describe tlrem. Here then
| is what he says of what are too deep
| lv immurCd in the bosom of some to
| llWl their way to the eye:
"Hut. all. the tears that are not wrpt.
The tears that never outward fall:
!