The Dark Glen of McCance
One cold and misty Christmas morn’
As the world below them slept
A band of hardy worshippers
Up the frozen valley crept
The icy wind was biting
Like the cruel penal laws
As the dawn in all its glory
Over Colin Mountain draws
They reached the secret clearing
Where the peace would calm the fears
Where the sacred rock lay hidden
As it had for many years
They waited in the silence
‘Neath the falcon’s lonely cries
And prayed the priest would make it
Past the redcoats’ watchful eyes
The lookout strains his weary glare
Far off into the trees
To watch for signs of movement
In everything he sees
When suddenly behind him
A rustle caught his ear
As the priest himself presented
To the folk assembled there
He blessed them, then removed his cloak
Showing vestments of red and gold
Then the faithful knelt upon the snow
With no thought for the cold
The sacred words were whispered
With reverence and awe
With the owl perched high above them
Transfixed by what she saw
The fox and badger cast their eye
Bemused by such a sight
As as a sudden breeze ‘thru the ancient oaks
Made the morning thrush take flight
The purling stream continued
With its timeless watery dance
The gentle sound, like a mother’s arms
Enfolding the Latin chants
Then soon the Mass was over
And the priest gave final grace
He vanished just as he appeared
Without a single trace
The faithful took a different path
For fear they might be seen
And McCance’s Glen returned once more
To a silent winter scene
As twilight fell that Christmas night
The soldiers searched the Glen
The sergeant on his tall black horse
And his troop of redcoat men
He saw the footprints in the snow
And he knew he’d missed his chance
He didn’t find the priest that day
In the dark glen of McCance
Composition by: Patrick Davey
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