Luck 'O the Irish

We may not have a drop of Irish blood (we're Finnish/Scottish/English/French mongrels), but we love St. Patty's Day. . .and here's the sun, making a special appearance, inspiring us to put away our gloom and follow our Irish step-dancing hearts to the nearest market to buy a corned beef brisket. We found a good recipe and though our local grocery store did not even NOD at St. Patrick by showcasing cabbage or tatties, Mom and I are going to poke around until we find a plump leafy head and a mouthwatering corned beef. And then we're going to roast the lot in beer.
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Of course St. Patrick was not the Saint of brew pubs and cabbage boil, even though I'm tempted to slap garish green shamrocks all over my body; nor is he the saint of pinched elementary students or the cause of the snakes' flight out of Ireland. I did a little research to find out what sort of reflections I should engage in on my corned beef hunt--actually, a better time to think on St. Patrick would be while the brisket is slowing roasting in the oven--and though Patrick's story is compelling in itself, I was happy to find at this site the Breastplate of St. Patrick. . .Below, I pasted my favorite parts; the first reads like a poem and the last is, of course, a much-loved ancient prayer.

I bind unto myself today
The virtues of the starlit heaven,
The glorious sun's life-giving ray,
The whiteness of the moon at even,
The flashing of the lightning free,
The whirling wind's tempestuous shocks,
The stable earth, the deep salt sea,
Around the old eternal rocks.

Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

Happy St. Patrick's Day, and may we show brave love to each person we encounter today.