In Ireland it looks like blasphemy is being taken off the books. That’s the latest word.

A Touch Of The Blarney.

In Ireland the Church has long held sway,
It’s been ”listen to Father’ for forever and a day,
Eternally, paternally told to watch what you say,
To blaspheme means you’ve Hell to pay.

Or at least a spell in Purgatory.

But now it’s influence is on the wane,
Soon it will not be a crime to profane,
Though many Fathers will dogmatically remain
Convinced it’s a sin to take Gods name in vain,

And to say so deserves a stint in the reformatory.

Father McEvedy kneels in despair,
He’s been praying hard to Him up There,
But his cassock and faith are getting threadbare;
Christ, what happened to the power of prayer?

Perhaps He’s deaf to old fashioned oratory?

Soon, I swear, you’ll be able to say your piece
And not be forced to confess to the priest and police,
When a quiet oath is not heard as a breach of the peace;
In Ireland, miracles and wonders will never cease.
 
If you believe the old old story.

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