Veni Creator
We shuffle in white surplices
At five fifty every morning
To hymn the Holy Spirit
While trying to stop yawning
Young novices are praying
Heads with tousled hair
Inclined in contemplation
In a small oratory in Leopardstown.
The Gregorian chant ascends
Above the incense at the altar
To bless a sleeping city
With winking lights below.
Two worlds that never meet
The simple seminary life
Ends at the wooden gate
Closed to a busy town outside.
These fresh faced lads
Have their gazes fixed on Rome
And beyond that to México
A place one day called home.
But beyond all that a place
Where the Spirit lives
With all the saints that walked
Across the twinkling universe.
In homage to Kevin Smyth.
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