Saint Patrick and the Snake.

My great-great-great-grandfather John Joseph Hayes left his native home in Cork county Ireland, to come here to the United States. He was an amazing man with an amazing testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. He also had "the gift of gab" though I don't know that he ever kissed the blarney stone. Having a way with words, he was quite a poet and wrote this poem about Saint Patrick and the Snake. It has always been our family tradition on St. Patrick's Day to share this poem. I hope you enjoy it.

Saint Patrick and the Snake

Saint Patrick was no Irishman
As history does declare,
And yet, he is the Englishman
All Irishmen revere.
Because tradition does relate, --
He traveled o’er the bogs,
And by the power which he possessed,
Destroyed the snakes and frogs.

He traveled east, he traveled west,
He wandered north and south,
And told the ugly creeping things,
From Irish soil “Get Out!”
They started off or bursted up,
As I have heard folks say,
For sure there is no ugly snakes
In Ireland to this day.

But there was one great monster snake,
That said, “I will not go,
For I have lived here in the south, --
How long, I do not know.
Killarney is my native home,
The lake my native bed;
And by the rattles on my tail,
Saint Patrick I don’t dread.”

Then Patrick went into the wood
And cut a large Oak tree;
He got a saw and made some planks,
Such boards you ne’er did see.
And next he got some iron clamps
And made a box so strong,
That Samson could not break it ope,
If he should come along.

He put on it, a patent lock,
With double-header snap,
And then exclaimed with saintly pride:
“That wiley snake I’ll trap.”
The saint then took this heavy box
And bore it to the lake,
Where sporting on the glistening sand,
He spied the wiley snake.

“Look here Acushla, ”Patrick said,
“I’ve brought you a fine house,
Where you can be so snug and warm
And cozy as a mouse.”
“But I don’t want your house, you see,
”Tis too small for a cat;
Do you think a genteel snake like me ,
Would live in such as that?”

“Look here you vermin, how could snakes
Be any judge of size;
You know that since the days of Eve
Snakes always have told lies.”

“Indeed, good saint, it is not fair
That you should thus begin;
You know that in your Holy Church,
You preach original sin.”

“But I don’t care for all your talk,
I want to let you know
You can’t drive me away from here
Because I will not go.”

Then Patrick took his Irish harp,
And quick began to play,
And soon the snake came creeping round
As though he’d like to stay.
Then Patrick played the Irish jig--
The snake could not refuse it;
It made him feel so very big
To hear his native music.

“Balance all,” Saint Patrick cried,
“Swing the partner by your side.”
“Sashy to Sashy,” The Saint now said;
“Alaman left and all promenade.”
The excitement made the snake so drunk
He fell exhausted in the trunk.
Then quick as lightening Patrick slid
Up to the box, and closed the lid.

The double header did not fail,
And Patrick shouted; “Mind your tail!”
The snake now fast began to rave
And much palaver there he gave.
But the good Saint Patrick, did quite fail
To see the moral of his tale.
“Oh, blessed Saint Patrick, pity take,
And set me free for mercy sake.”
The Saint, now slightly touched with sorrow
Said, “I’ll let you out tomorrow.”

Then Patrick took the heavy box,
And waded in the lake
Until the water reached his chin,
And there he dumped the snake.
And now the fishermen declare
As they sail o’er the the deep
A mournful sound they always hear
As though someone did weep--
It never ceases night or day,
And is always full of sorrow,--
These hopeless words it seems to say:
“When will it be tomorrow?”

-- John Joseph Hayes