Twelve to mingle their voices with mine
    At prayer, whate’er the weather,
  To Him Who bids His dear sun shine
    On the good and ill together. 
  Pleasant the Church with fair Mass cloth,
    No dwelling for Christ’s declining
  To its crystal candles, of bees-wax both,
    On the pure, white Scriptures shining. 
  Beside it a hostel for all to frequent,
    Warm with a welcome for each,
  Where mouths, free of boasting and ribaldry, vent
    But modest and innocent speech. 
  These aids to support us my husbandry seeks,
    I name them now without hiding—­
  Salmon and trout and hens and leeks,
    And the honey-bees’ sweet providing. 
  Raiment and food enow will be mine
    From the King of all gifts and all graces;
  And I to be kneeling, in rain or shine,
    Praying to God in all places.

CRINOG

A.D. 900-1000

This poem relates “to one who lived like a sister or spiritual wife with a priest, monk, or hermit, a practice which, while early suppressed and abandoned everywhere else, seems to have survived in the Irish Church till the tenth century.”

  Crinog of melodious song,
    No longer young, but bashful-eyed,
  As when we roved Niall’s Northern Land,
    Hand in hand, or side by side.

  Peerless maid, whose looks ran o’er
    With the lovely lore of Heaven,
  By whom I slept in dreamless joy,
    A gentle boy of summers seven.

  We dwelt in Banva’s broad domain,
    Without one stain of soul or sense;
  While still mine eye flashed forth on thee
    Affection free of all offence.

  To meet thy counsel quick and just,
    Our faithful trust responsive springs;
  Better thy wisdom’s searching force
    Than any smooth discourse with kings.

  In sinless sisterhood with men,
    Four times since then, hast thou been bound,
  Yet not one rumour of ill-fame
    Against thy name has travelled round.

  At last, their weary wanderings o’er,
    To me once more thy footsteps tend;
  The gloom of age makes dark thy face,
    Thy life of grace draws near its end.

  O, faultless one and very dear,
    Unstinted welcome here is thine. 
  Hell’s haunting dread I ne’er shall feel,
    So thou be kneeling at my side.

  Thy blessed fame shall ever bide,
    For far and wide thy feet have trod. 
  Could we their saintly track pursue,
    We yet should view the Living God.

  You leave a pattern and bequest
    To all who rest upon the earth—­
  A life-long lesson to declare
    Of earnest prayer the precious worth.

  God grant us peace and joyful love! 
    And may the countenance of Heaven’s King
  Beam on us when we leave behind
    Our bodies blind and withering.