Mother of holy fire! Mother of holy dew! Thy children of the mist, the moor, the mountain side, These change not from thine heart, these to thine heart allied: Mother of holy fire ! Mother of holy dew! These, that rely on thee, as blossoms on the blue. Thy children of the mist, the moor, the mountain side, O passionate, dark faces, melancholy's hue! These change not from thine heart, these to thine heart allied: O deep, gray eyes, so tragic with the fires they hide! These, that rely on thee, as blossoms on the blue. Sweet Mother, in whose light these live! thou dost abide, O passionate, dark faces, melancholy's hue! Star of the West, pale to the world: these know thee true. O deep, gray eyes, so tragic with the fires they hide! No alien hearts may know that magic, which acquaints Sweet Mother, in whose light these live! thou dost abide, Thy soul with splendid passion, a great fire of dreams; Star of the West, pale to the world: these know thee true. Thine heart with lovelier sorrow, than the wistful sea. Voices of Celtic singers and of Celtic Saints Live on the ancient air: their royal sunlight gleams No alien hearts may know that magic, which acquaints On moorland Merioneth and on sacred Dee. Thy soul with splendid passion, a great fire of dreams; Thine heart with lovelier sorrow, than the wistful sea. Voices of Celtic singers and of Celtic Saints Live on the ancient air: their royal sunlight gleams On moorland Merioneth and on sacred Dee. |