Selections from Ancient Irish Poetry/The Hermit's Song

THE HERMIT'S SONG

I wish, O Son of the living God, O ancient, eternal
King,
For a hidden little hut in the wilderness that it
may be my dwelling.

An all-grey lithe little lark to be by its side,
A clear pool to wash away sins through the grace
of the Holy Spirit.

Quite near, a beautiful wood around it on every
side,
To nurse many-voiced birds, hiding it with its
shelter.

A southern aspect for warmth, a little brook across
its floor,
A choice land with many gracious gifts such as be
good for every plant.

A few men of sense—we will tell their number—
Humble and obedient, to pray to the King:—

Four times three, three times four, fit for every need,
Twice six in the church, both north and south:—

Six pairs besides myself,
Praying for ever the King who makes the sun
shine.

A pleasant church and with the linen altar-cloth,
a dwelling for God from Heaven;
Then, shining candles above the pure white
Scriptures.

One house for all to go to for the care of the body,
Without ribaldry, without boasting, without
thought of evil.

This is the husbandry I would take, I would choose,
and will not hide it:
Fragrant leek, hens, salmon, trout, bees.

Raiment and food enough for me from the King
of fair fame,
And I to be sitting for a while praying God in
every place.