 | Lyra Pastoralis |  |
Iona
I landed on Iona's holy isle,And wandered through its ancient ruins bare,
And felt the great Columba's self was there.
Thirteen long centuries seemed “a little while”
Before the unchanging sea and sky, whose smile
He knew. He trod these paths; he breathed this air;
These waves once rolled responsive to his prayer,
Whose murmuring ripples now mine ear beguile.
Nor to the saint alone closer I stand,
Nearer the Lord I seem, upon this shore;
The solid rock of this historic strand
Helps me to bridge Time's waste of waters o'er,
And grasp His feet, and feel His loving hand
In Whom all saints are one for evermore!
| Lyra Pastoralis | |