Walfrid’s Dream
There’s a quiet corner of
Scotland far from the roaring crowd
Where a simple grave marks out
a life not haughty, rich or proud
Here lies an Irish dreamer who
heard his children cry
For want of food, or warmth or
love and dared to question why?
He raged against the hunger, he
railed against the hate
It tore his heart asunder when
he saw their empty plates
But dreams can’t feed these
children so in his mind was born
A scheme to found a football
club to take the world by storm
So a band of men he gathered and
told them of his scheme
A community was put to work to
build up Walfrid’s dream
And the little ones had food
again and the older ones had pride
From far and wide they came to
see his marvelous Celtic side
They carved a place of honour and
they met with destiny
From Celtic Park to Lisbon’s
sun it was plain for all to see
That Walfrid’s dreams had all
come true but yet he wanted more
As the wind-blown grass around
his grave heard the distant roar
He would smile on all the
glory his famous club had won
He’d be glad his people’s children left the shadows for the sun
But he’d point to all those
others who hunger here today
Will we watch their trials and
struggles and mutely walk away?
There’s a quiet corner of
Scotland far from the roaring crowd
Where a simple grave marks out
a life not haughty, rich or proud
The man has gone to his reward
but his dream it echoes still
For children still need food today, will you help their plates to fill?
In Memory of Brother Walfrid (1840-1915)
Dreamer of dreams, friend of
the poor. RIP
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