St. Columba at Iona

Delightful it would be
From a rock pinnacle to trace
Continually
The Ocean's face:
That I might watch the heaving waves
Of noble force
To God the Father chant their staves
Of the earth's course.
That I might mark the level strand,
To me no less distress,
That I might mark the sea-bird's wondrous band-
Sweet source of happiness.
That I might hear the clamorous billows thunder
On the rude beach.
That by my blessed church side I might ponder
Their mighty speech.
Or watch surf-flying gulls the dark shoal follow
With joyous scream,
Or mighty ocean monsters spout and wallow,
Wonder supreme!
That I might well observe the ebb and flood
All cycles therein;
And that my mystic name might be for good
But 'Cul-ri. Erin.'
That gazing toward her on my heart might fall
A full contrition,
That I might bewail my evils all,
Though hard the addition;
That I might bless the Lord who all things orders
For their good.
The countless hierarchies through heaven's bright borders-
Land, strand, and flood/
That I might search all books and from their chart
Find my soul's calm.
Now kneel before the Heaven of my heart,
Now chant a psalm;
Now meditate upon the King of heaven,
Chief of the Holy Three;
Now ply my work by no compulsion driven
What greater joy could be?
Now plucking dulse from rocky shore,
Now fishing eager on,
Now furnishing food unto famished poor;
In hermitage anon:
The guidance of the King of kings
Has been vouchsafed to me;
If I keep watch beneath his wings
No evil shall undo me.

--Alfred P. Graves (1846-1931), Irish poet, from A Celtic Psaltery, 1917