Nation held rapt by haunting verse on day of true joy and blessings

Politicians and diplomats sat transfixed as the tears of friends and colleagues were discreetly wiped away

A LOVELY day. A blessed day. When the beautiful words of a poet sang a powerful benediction to another, while a mesmerised nation eavesdropped on his haunting verse.

As Rita Connolly’s strong voice soared around the magnificent hall, the late John O’Donohue’s lines sprang to life.

Through them, he sent his old friend Michael D on a wondrous new journey. With his blessing.

You could see how much this meant to the man who was minutes away from becoming the ninth President of Ireland, and why he chose Beannacht to close the service of prayer that preceded his installation.

“And so may a slow wind work these words of love around you, an invisible cloak to mind your life.” Beannacht.

In St Patrick’s Hall, the politicians and diplomats leaned forward in their seats, transfixed. Along the rows of Michael D’s friends and former colleagues, fingers crept up under spectacles and tears were discreetly wiped away. He sat behind the ornate desk in a specially designed chair, and, stealing a look at his wife Sabina, he smiled a wistful smile. She returned it.

Sitting in the front row were their children, and Michael D’s brother and sisters.

On this great national occasion, they also shared a private joy. Oh, but Michael D looked so happy.

The Chief Justice read the Declaration of Office and Michael D repeated it aloud. Then she presented him with the declaration and he signed it.

“The President has entered upon his office in accordance with the Constitution,” announced Mrs Justice Susan Denham.

From the gallery above him, the trumpets sounded a proud fanfare. The crowd rose to its feet and applauded Ireland’s new head of State.

One of the perks of being President is that the Taoiseach is your master of ceremonies on big occasions. Enda Kenny made most of the introductions from the dais. When it was his turn to speak, he delivered a graceful and eloquent address about Michael D “a noble man of quiet virtue”.

He spoke of his authenticity, “as poet, philosopher, patriot, politician”. He paused briefly – isn’t that enough to be going on with? But he continued: “democrat, republican, husband, father.” The Taoiseach mined the seam opened by President Higgins during his campaign, speaking of a republic and its people “not defined by greed or power or wealth, but by the quieter, deeper, more authentic elements”.

Enda wished him luck, joy, health and happiness. “And as he takes office, he holds not just our hearts, but our hopes. And our dreams.” A small plastic stand bearing the presidential seal materialised on the desk in front of Michael D. He’ll have to get used to that sort of thing.

Finally, as it neared midday, he rose to speak. This was the culmination of countless thoughtful speeches, delivered in many places over many years all with his trademark passion.

The defining one.

He had worked on it last weekend on retreat in Glenstal Abbey. Abbot Mark Patrick Hederman listened, smiling, from the body of the hall.

That cultured west of Ireland voice we all know – he’s an impressionist’s dream – filled the room. “Now, it is time to turn to an older wisdom,” he said.

This is a wisdom that, “while respecting material comfort and security as a basic right of all, also recognises that many of the most valuable things in life cannot be measured”. Yes. We knew what he meant. He wasn’t referring to himself.

But as we watched and listened to this small, grey-haired man with the big voice, for that moment, he was the one.

It was time. Instinctively, the country had turned to him.

The older wisdom.

His will be a presidency of ideas. One of inclusion and creativity. He spoke of the “right of the individual mind”. In 15 minutes – a speed round for Michael D – he set out his stall. His vision, his poetic aisling, for a better Ireland and how he might help achieve it.

“Every age, after all, must have its own aisling and dream of a better, kinder, happier, shared world.

The Council of State sat around him. To his right, the Taoiseach and the Tánaiste, Eamon Gilmore, his former Labour Party leader.

Because he was on the platform, the Tánaiste kept his composure. The same can’t be said for the old Labour stalwarts in the hall – for them, this was a three-hankie inauguration.

Behind and to Michael D’s left were four powerful women: former presidents Mary Robinson and Mary McAleese, both resplendent in pillar box red. And next to them, Sabina, his wife, elegant in a purple Louise Kennedy suit. Among the ranks of former taoisigh, Bertie Ahern was conspicuous by his absence.

When the ceremony ended, the band struck up a stirring rendition of the national anthem. And suddenly, there was almost a giddiness in the splendour of the hall. There were handshakes all round before the President and Sabina stepped down from the dais. He greeted his proud children, then they proceeded down the centre aisle, stopping to acknowledge friends on the way.

They were delighted. He was delighted. We were all delighted.

A few privileged journalists were skulking at the back of the hall. As the President passed, he turned and, as is his wont, made to amble over for a few words. But protocol rules now.

“Good to see you,” he beamed, and Sabina blew a kiss.

We stood in awkward silence, afraid to speak. The Irish Times executed a mortifying bow, but you had to do something.

It was bucketing rain outside. As it had done before the ceremony began. Michael D narrowly avoided being polaxed by the red carpet as he entered Dublin Castle. Moments after he went through the door, it was lifted by an unmerciful gust of wind and thrown over his motorcycle escort.

But it didn’t worry the hundreds of schoolchildren who had come from all over the country. They emerged into the courtyard waving little presidential flags, wrapped in clear plastic ponchos.

After he inspected the sodden but stoic guard of honour, the President and his wife ignored the weather and went to greet them.

Janet Yennusick (14) from East Glendalough school in Wicklow couldn’t believe it when Michael D shook her hand.

“Oh my God. I’m just ecstatic about it. It’s just the most amazing thing ever!” she cried, running off to phone her mum.

Her friend Laura Jane Snell (13) was equally overcome. “It was really good. The best day ever!” And the band played through the deluge and strapping officers carried posies that were presented to Sabina by the children.

The President promised he would visit their schools. Then it was time for the happy couple to depart. “We’re happy with the rain,” laughed Sabina.

“They say it’s a blessing.”

What a lovely, blessed day.

And the Boys in Green won 4-0 in Estonia. The Michael D magic is working already.