An Bhutais

Aililiu, a dhuine, do chruinnigh an t-ualach        
Ar mhiste leat gluaiseacht no an mairfir go brach?                                                                        Bagun do do chistin a d'oirfeadh romhor duit;                                                                               Ma chuirfear san uaigh leat e, codail go samh.                                                                              Da mheid iad do dhllthe, t'ionmhain is t'ualach,                                                                            Chifirse an tuama romhat lan desna cnamha                                                                              Ach de reir mar a thuigim do shentence an uair ud                                                                      Mar ni thabharfairse an bhuatais go Flaithis na nGrast.                                                                     

Is doigh liom gur chodail tui i gcraiceann mic tlre        
Is an ainsprid choimhthloch ag faire ar do bhraid.
Na dean Dia de do bholg i bpobal na milte,        
No na feiceann tu Gaeil bhocht' le heasnarnh ag fail bhais                                                    D'aithnlos ar do dhochma la crochta na slol dom                                                                         Go raibh do chrol istigh ag smaoineamh ar eagla anbhais                                                             Ach an crann go mbionn an toradh air nl chloisim go gcrlonann                                                       Is go bhfoire go caoin e Mac Mhuire na nGrast.

An te a thabharfadh bliain ar an leaba i ngalar is i gcruatan
D'eireodh ina sheasamh ag grafadh no ag bualadh
'S na smaoineodh ar Aifreann beannaithe an Uanrnhic
Do shaorfadh dn gcruatan an t-anam la an gha.                                                                        Aililiu, a dhuine, do chonaic tu na milte
Is nl fhaca tu fosa do dhifhulaing an Phais
Ar chrann(a) na croise, an chonairt a dheoladh                                                                            Mar a mbiodh an fhuil ghlormhar ina ceathanna ar lar.

Da mairfeadh Naomh Peadar, gan deannad, Seamus
Aindrid ba neata a thuirling i mbroig;                                                                                       Meibhln is Pilib, aonmhac Alpheus
Maitiu ba neata le Jude agus Siun;                                                                                              Siud iad an fhoireann do chonaic Zacheus
Ar an gcrann is e ag titim le dlithe an Aonmhic                                                                            Mar is doigh liomsa, a dhuine, na tuigir an Ghreigis
Seo! Caith diot an eide mura leanair Naomh Pol.



Indeed my good sir, who would heap up the riches
From Death's call there's no power a person can save.
Though the hams in your kitchen be sweet and be tasty
They'll give you small comfort when you're in your grave!
Though great are your powers, your esteem and your lasting
The tomb lies in wait at the end of the road
And then you will find that, unless I'm mistaken,                                                                        You'll not need your boots in your future abode.

Pretend not your gruffness conceals your good nature.
The devil is waiting and won't be deceived.
Don't worship your belly and offer it sweetmeats                                                                           While the poor faint with hunger and die unrelieved.
I knew by your face on the day of the sowing
That the harvest you craved was not the true one.                                                                      The Tree that bore fruit has never grown older
Its burden is still - as it was- Mary's son.                                                                                    

For he who lies down in illness and sorrow                                                                                  But rises next day to plough land and sow seed                                                                           Will not think at all of the Mass and its graces
Which would save his poor soul in the day of its need.
Indeed my good man you have seen many people                                                                         But you never saw Jesus who suffered the Passion                                                                        On the arms of the cross with the dogs snapping at Him
While His Blood showered round in most prodigal fashion.

Gone now is brave Peter and James is gone with him
And Andrew - no finer man ever wore shoe
Matthew and Philip and also Alphaeus,                                                                                     Simon the Blessed, St John and St Jude.                                                                                    All these were the people who witnessed Zaccheus                                                                        In a tree as he waited Our Lord's blessed call.                                                                         Forgotten your Greek? Then I'd like to remind you:                                                               Abandon your cloth or else follow St Paul.