The Church of Saint Éinne, Inishmore, Aran Islands
Jerome Rosen
This is beyond the bound of comfort’s shire,
This barren flat of sand without a lee,
This unroofed altar hung betwixt the sea
And keen of sky-chilled wind, a spirit choir.
They came here, ardent men, to be thus free
To seek the way to God in gale-born foam
And Celtic cross, to cleave of rock a home,
To wealth attained by vow of poverty.
Here, so many leagues from Peter’s dome,
I feel no love in ancient empire’s power,
No piety in marbled hall and tower,
Nor benediction in a canon tome.
No… If God there be He here abides:
Like Aran’s monks, I’d seek Him in the tides.