Patrick Wall


February 4, 1944  -  March 10, 2011


Loving brother, dear and funny uncle, fantastic cousin and special friend



Morning has Broken


Morning has broken, like the first morning, Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird

Praise for the singing, praise for the morning, Praise for the springing fresh from the word

Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlit from heaven, Like the first dewfall, on the first grass

Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden, Sprung in completeness where his feet pass

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning, Born of the one light, Eden saw play

Praise with elation, praise every morning, God's recreation of the new day



The Beatitudes


Happy are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Happy are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
Happy are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
Happy are they who hunger and thirst for goodness and justice, for they shall be satisfied.
Happy are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.
Happy are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.
Happy are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.

Lake Isle of Innisfree


I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,  I hear it in the deep heart's core.


Danny Boy


Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling  From glen to glen, and down the mountainside.
The summer's gone, and all the flow'rs are dying. 'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow.
'Tis I'll be here, in sunshine or in shadow, Oh, Danny boy, oh, Danny boy, I love you so.

And when ye come, and all the roses falling, If I am dead, as dead I well may be,
Ye'll come and find the place where I am lying  And kneel and say an ave there for me.
And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me, And, all my grave shall warmer, sweeter be,
For you will bend and tell me that you love me, And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.