Ah, weep not, friends, that I am far from ye,
And no warm breathÉd words may reach my ears;
One way is shorter, nearer than by sea,
Prayers weigh with God and graces wait on tears;
As rise the mists from summer seas unseen,
To fall in freshening showers on hill and plain,
So prayer sent forth from fervent hearts makes green
The parched bowers of one whose life was vain.
Pray for me day and night these Christmas hours,
This the one gift I value all beyond;
Aid me with supplication 'fore those powers
Who have regard for prayer, th' angelic bond—
All ye who love me knock at Jesus' gate,
As for one standing outside deep in snow,
Tell him a sorrowing soul doth trembling wait,
And none but He can ease its load of woe.
Ah, friends! of whom I once asked other things,
Refuse me not this one thing asked again;
Shield me, a naked soul, with sheltering wings,
From rush of angry storms and bitter rain—
I cannot stand the gaze of mine own eyes;
That I escape myself implore our Lord—
Ah, me! I learn he only's rightly wise
Who seeks in all th' exceeding great reward.
From self that I be freed, O Father will!
Lord Jesus from the world protect me still,
Spirit paraclete, over the flesh give victory,
And o'er the devil a lasting crown to me!
James Keegan.

The Catholic Review: Irish-America contributes to the new Parliament one of the strongest members of the Nationalist party, Mr. T. P. Gill, for some years past assistant editor of the Catholic World, and previously a prominent journalist in Ireland, where, during the imprisonment of Mr. William O'Brien, he took the editorial chair of United Ireland until Mr. Buckshot Forster made it too hot for him. In the cooler climate of New York he still did good service to his party, in disabusing numbers of many ill-grounded misapprehensions and misconceptions, and in strengthening the sympathies, by increasing the information, of all well-wishers of Ireland. His work will be felt in England.