The Intermountain Catholic. (Salt Lake City [Utah] ;) 1899-1920, 1910-12-17
GERALD GRIFFIN.

| Gerald Griffin, the Irish poet and novelist died
at the early age of 81. This mysterious number 81
has been fatal to Burns, Byron, Balmes, the great
Spanish philosopher, and to an army OF 1ntellec-
tual and brilliant men in Europe and America NO
other number is the assistant at the deathbeds OF
so many distinguished writer's as the fatal 81
few hours could be very usefuy employed tracing
the names of eminent men who died at the age OF
81 and Investigating the causes of the deaths OF
so many men of reputation at this fatal age foof
Griffin, who was born in Limerick in 1903, suffered
for years from cold and hunger in London garrett
before he achieved fame. Then when his Duke
of Monmouth" his 'Holland Tide" "The Rivals,
HThe Invasion" his fugitive poems and, above ALL
his mastery novel, "The Collegians" dramat1zed
by Dion Boucicaut into "The Colleen Bawn," had
won him great reputation, he became Christian
Brother and died teaching the children of the poor
of Cork City. He was a great Irishman and, like
so many of his countrymen, deeply religious. Here
is his poem on the
SISTER OF CHARITY.
She once was lady of honor and wealth,
Bright glowd on her features the roses of health;
Her vesture was blended of silk and of gold
And her motion shook perfume from every fold;
Joy develld around her-love shone at her side,
And gay was her smile, as the glance of bride;
And light was her step in the understanding hail.
When she heard of the daughters of Vincent de
Paul.
She felt in her spirit the summons Of grace,
That called her to live for the suffering race;
And needless of pleasure, of comfort of home,
Rose quickly like Mary, and answered, II come"
She put from her person the trappings of pride,
And pass'd from her home with the joy of bride,
Nor wept at the threshold, as onward she moved
For her heart was on fire in the cause it approved
Lost ever to fashion-to vanity lost,
That beauty that once was the song and the toast
No more in the ballroom that figure meet,
But gliding at dusk to the wretch's retreat
Forgot in the halls is that high-sounding name,
For the Sister of Charity bushes at fame;
Forgot are the claims of her riches and birth,
For she barriers for heaven the glory of earth.
Those feet that to music could gracefully move,
Now bear her alone oil the missioa of love;
Those haods that once dangled the perfume and
gem
Are tending the helpless, or lifted for them;
That voice that once echoed the song of the vain
Now whispers relief to the bosom of pain;
And the hair that was shining with diamond mad
pearl,
Is wet. with the tears of the penitent girl.
Unshrinking where pestilence scatters its breath,
Like an angel she moves, mid the vapours Of death;
Where rings the loud musket and flashes the
sword,
she walks, for she follows the Lord.
How sweetly she bends Ger each plague-tainted
face,
With looks that are lighted with hottest grace;
How kindly she dresses each suffering limb,
For she sees in the wounded the image of Him.
Behold her, We worldly behold her, We vainl
Who shrink from the pathway of virtue and pain;
Who yield up to pleasure your nights and your
days,
Forgetful of service forgetful of praise,
Ye lazy philosophers -self-seeking men,
Ye Preside philanthropists great the pen,
How stands in the balance your eloquence weighed
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