Shanty Irish by Jim Tully Page B

ready to die.”
    The voices became lower, more plaintive … pleading … questioning. For kneeling before them was one from a hated church.
    â€œLord, whence are those blood-drops all the way ,
    That mark out the mountain-track?
    They were shed for one who had gone astray
    Ere the Shepherd could bring her back .
    Lord, whence are thy hands so rent and torn?
    They are pierced to-night by many a thorn.”
    The voices raised.
    â€œBut all through the mountains thunder-riven ,
    And up from the rocky steep ,
    There rose a cry to the gate of heaven ,
    â€˜Rejoice! I have found my sheep!’
    And the angels echoed around the throne
    â€˜Rejoice, for the Lord brings back his own!’”
    The preacher wiped his forehead.
    â€œAh, Brothers and Sisters—we are the shepherds of the long lost sheep brought back from the vale of ignorance and superstition. Beautiful and contrite in the sight of the Lord—long wandering in the meadows of hated Rome. Hands rent and torn from saving a lamb from the hideous mouth of hell.”
    â€œAmen! Amen!” the congregation shouted, “Hallelujah, Thine the Glory—Hallelujah! Amen!”
    The preacher continued:
    â€œAh—twice more glorious in the sight of God to bring back one who is perishing away from the true light. We should be shepherds of the blind multitude who stumble on paths far from the seat of God, the most beloved. Torn by the briers of hate, our sister here is yet to know the saving grace of our Savior …”
    Suddenly an old farmer jumped up and down.
    â€œAnother sinner bound for glory,” shouted the minister, as the farmer sang—
    â€œBlessed Lord I’m glad I’m free—
    No more of the devil’s chains for me—
    Glory to God in the Highest—”
    He fell to his knees, shaking in a frenzy of rustic delirium.
    â€œLet us hear more of the Lord’s power, Brothers and Sisters,” shouted the minister.
    A heavy red-faced woman jumped up. By her side sat a little farmer in overalls.
    â€œI thank God that my husband here is now a laborer in the Vineyard of the Lord. He saw the light after thirty years of blindness. All his bad habits dropped from him.
    â€œGoin’ home he took it out an’ I pleaded wit’ him an’ he fought wit’ me.”
    â€œAmen Sister—Amen,” from many voices.
    â€œHe took it out again an’ I pleaded wit’ him—an’ at last he threw the whole terbaccer plug into the ditch.”
    â€œGlory to God,” the minister shouted.
    â€œStand up Brother Ed—so all can see the great victor over evil.”
    Bashfully the farmer rose.
    â€œGive us the testimony, Brother,” loudly suggested the preacher—“Tell us of the sheep long lost in the wilderness who saw the light at last—”
    The farmer tried to sit down. His wife pushed him upward. The congregation joined the preacher in asking his testimony.
    â€œWell, I’ll tell you Brothers an’ other folks ‘sembled here under the Lord’s roof that we fixed last year. I ain’t much on speech makin’ but I wanta say—that my heart ain’t been so light in nigh on thirty year.
    â€œI worked in the vineyard when I was a boy over in Lucas County—but then I got married an’ back slid as it were—an’ I took to chewin’ terbaccer an’ drinkin’ a glass o’ beer when I drove to town wit’ a load o’ corn—an’ went from worse to worser until I became so low I’d sit an’ play cards in the saloon. My wife here prayed all that time—or them years, I mean—she musta got to thinkin’ I’d never come back to the fole—then when our pet cow died—I give in—an’ Brothers and Sister-folk—here I am glory-be.” He made an ineffectual attempt at feigning joy.
    â€œAmen,” was shouted often.
    His wife rose again.
    An old man stood