St. Columcille's Island Hermitage
Delightful I think it to be in the bosom of an isle, on the peak of a rock, that I might often see there the calm of the sea.
That I might see its heavy waves over the glittering ocean, as they chant a melody to their Father on their eternal course.
That I might see its smooth strand of clear headlands, no gloomy thing; that I might hear the voice of the wondrous birds, a joyful course.
That I might hear the sound of the shallow waves against the rocks; that I might hear the cry by the graveyard, the noise of the sea.
That I might see its splendid flocks of birds over the full-watered ocean; that I might see its mighty whales, greatest of wonders.
That I might see its ebb and its flood-tide in their flow; that this may be my name, a secret I tell, “He who turned his back on Ireland.”
That contrition of heart should come upon me as I watch it; that I might bewail my many sins, difficult to declare.
That I might bless the Lord who has power over all, Heaven with its pure host of angels, earth, ebb, flood-tide.
That I might pore on one of my books, good for my soul; a while kneeling for beloved Heaven, a while at psalms.
A while gathering dulse from the rock, a while fishing, a while giving good to the poor, a while in my cell.
A while meditating upon the Kingdom of Heaven, holy is the redemption; a while at labour not too heavy; it would be delightful!
That I might see its heavy waves over the glittering ocean, as they chant a melody to their Father on their eternal course.
That I might see its smooth strand of clear headlands, no gloomy thing; that I might hear the voice of the wondrous birds, a joyful course.
That I might hear the sound of the shallow waves against the rocks; that I might hear the cry by the graveyard, the noise of the sea.
That I might see its splendid flocks of birds over the full-watered ocean; that I might see its mighty whales, greatest of wonders.
That I might see its ebb and its flood-tide in their flow; that this may be my name, a secret I tell, “He who turned his back on Ireland.”
That contrition of heart should come upon me as I watch it; that I might bewail my many sins, difficult to declare.
That I might bless the Lord who has power over all, Heaven with its pure host of angels, earth, ebb, flood-tide.
That I might pore on one of my books, good for my soul; a while kneeling for beloved Heaven, a while at psalms.
A while gathering dulse from the rock, a while fishing, a while giving good to the poor, a while in my cell.
A while meditating upon the Kingdom of Heaven, holy is the redemption; a while at labour not too heavy; it would be delightful!
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