Newark evening star and Newark advertiser. [volume] (Newark, N.J.) 1909-1916, 1914-10-02
"Soggarth Aroon"

An Orange reader asks that the
following poem be published:
soGGARTH AROON.
ooh. soggarth Aroon (Father Dear),
sure I know, life is fleetin',
Soon, soon In a strange land my
poor bones will lie;
I've said my last prayer and re-
ceived my last blessin',
And If the Lords. willin', I'm
ready to die.
But. Soggarth Aroon, can never
again see
The valleys and hills of my dear,
native land;
When my soul takes 1t flight from
the dark world Of sorrow,
Will it pass through old Ireland
to Join the blest band?
.'Oh, Soggarth Aroon, know that
in heaven
The loved ones are watching and
waiting for me;
And the Lord knows how anxious
am to be with them,
In the realms of joy, midst the
souls pure and free.
But, tell me 1 pray, ere you leave
me forever,
Relieve the last doubt of poor
dying soul,
Whose hope, next to God, is to know
that when leavin'
Twill pass through old Ireland
on its way to its goal.
"Oh, soggarth Aroon, have kept
through all changes
The thrice blessed shamrock to
lay Ger my clay:
And, oh, it has minded me often
and often
OF the bright smiling valleys so
far, far away.
Then tell me, 1 pray you, will l
never again see
The spot where 1t grew on my own
native sod;
When my body lies cold in the land
of the stranger,
Will my soul pass through Ire
land on it's way to its God?"
"Why, bless you, my child. sure I
thought 1t was heaven
You wanted to go to, the moment
you died;
And such is the place on the ticket
I'm giving.
But a coupon for Ireland I'll stick
to it's side.
Your soul will be free as the wind
Ger the prairie,
I'll land you at Cork on the banks
of the Lee;
And two little angels I'll give you,
like fairies,
To guide you Alright over noun
tain and sea-"
"Ah, Soggarth Aroon, can't you do
any better,
1 know that my feelings may
peril your grace;
But If you'll allow a voice in the
matter
won't make a landing at any
such place.
The spot that I long for is sweet
County Derry,
Among it's fair people l was born
and bred;
The Corkies, / never much fancied
when living,
And I don't want to visit them
after I'm dead.
Let me fly to the hills, where my
soul can make merry,
In the north where the shamrock
more plentiful grows;
Through the counties of Cavan.
Fermanagh and Derry,
I'll linger, till called to a better
repose.
find it invitin'
To visit the sfrines in the Island
of Saints;
If they bring from ST. Patrick, a
small bit of writin',
They'll never have reason for any
complaints"
"a soul, my dear child, that has
pinions upon it
Need not be confined to province
so small;
Through Ulster and Munster and
Leinster and Connaught
In less than "a jiffy you're over
it all.
Then visit sweet Cork, where your
Soggarth was born,
No doubt many new things have
come into vogue;
But one thing you'll find, as both
night, noon and morning
For centuries back, there's no
change in the brogue.
Assist me, good mother, in this,
my last hour,
And, Soggarth Aroon, lay your
hand on my head;
For you're Soggarth for all-and
for all you have power
And I'll take 1t for penance for
what / have said.
And now as you tell me, through
Ireland I'm passin',
And finding the place so remark
ably small,
I'll never let on to the angels in
crossin'
We know distinction in counties
at ALL"
Thank you, Mr.. M, 1 know the
readers will enjoy this poem.