An old Gaelic prayer found, handwritten, on a piece of paper folded in an antique book I'd bought. A consequent internet search said that this one was translated by somebody called Alexander Carmichael. I love the image that it raises of a gnarled little woman, on her knees, laying the fire and whispering this devoutly in the early morning.
I will kindle my fire this morning
In the presence of the holy angels of heaven
In the presence of Ariel of the loveliest forms
In the presence of Uriel of the myriad charms
But the Holy Son of God to shield me.
Without malice, without jealousy, without envy,
Without fear, without terror of any one under the sun,
But the Holy Son of God to shield me.
God, kindle Thou in my heart within
A flame of love to my neighbour,
To my foe, to my friend, to my kindred all,
To the brave, to the knave, to the thrall,
O Son of the loveliest Mary,
From the lowliest thing that liveth,
to the Name that is highest of all.
O Son of the loveliest Mary
From the lowliest thing that liveth,
To the Name that is highest of all.
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