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By James B. Dollard

It was the soul of Karnaghan Buidhe

Left his lips with a groan.

Like arrowy lightning bolt released

It sprang to the Judgment throne.

Spoke the Judge: “For as many years

As the numbered drops of the sea

I grant you heaven—but thenceforth hell,

Your bitter lot shall be.”

Prayed the soul of Karnaghan Buidhe

(The trembling soul of Karnaghan Buidhe)

“Dear Lord, who died on Calvary,

Too brief that span of heaven for me.”

Then spoke the Lord: “For as many years

As numbered sands on the shore,

The joys of heaven I give—but thence

You’ll see my face no more.”

Pleaded the soul of Karnaghan Buidhe

(The shuddering soul of Karnaghan Buidhe)

“Blessed Lord who died on the shameful tree,

Too brief that span of heaven for me.”

Once more the Judge: “The blades of grass

That earth-winds ever blew

A year of heaven I’ll count for each

Till hell shall yawn for you.”

Prayed the soul of Karnaghan Buidhe

(The anguished soul of Karnaghan Buidhe)

“Kind Lord, who died in agony,

Too brief that spell of heaven for me.

But this I ask, O Christ—a year

Of hell for each of these:

The blades of grass, the grains of sand,

The drops that make the seas!

And after this, sweet Lord, with Thee

In heaven for all eternity!”

Spoke the Judge, and His smile of love

Gladdened the waiting choir above:

“Sin and sorrow forever past,

Heaven I grant you, first and last!”