An Irish Crazy-Quilt: Smiles and tears, woven into song and story by Forrester

I HAVE knelt in great cathedrals with their wondrous naves and aisles,
Whose fairy arches blend and interlace,
Where the sunlight on the paintings like a ray of glory smiles,
And the shadows seem to sanctify the place;
Where the organ’s tones, like echoes of an angel’s trumpet roll,
Wafted down by seraph wings from heaven’s shore—
They are mighty and majestic, but they cannot touch my soul
Like the little whitewashed church of Ballymore.
Ah! modest little chapel, half-embowered in the trees,
Though the roof above its worshippers was low,
And the earth bore traces sometimes of the congregation’s knees,
While they themselves were bent with toil and woe!
Milan, Cologne, St. Peter’s—by the feet of monarchs trod—
With their monumental genius and their lore,
Never knew in their magnificence more trustful prayers to God
Than ascended to His throne from Ballymore!