SAINT COLUMBKILLEColumbkille! Saint Columbkille!You naughty man, Saint Columbkille!Why did you Finnian’s Psalter takeAnd secretly a copy make?You know ’twas such a naughty thingFor one descended from a kingTo lock himself into a cell,’Twas far from right,-you knew it well,—And copy Finnian’s Psalter through,Against his will as well you knew.And then to think a common birdShould feel such shame, that when he heardThe breathing spy outside your door,And felt your sainthood was no more,Should through the crack attack the spy,And in a rage pluck out his eye,As if that saintly Irish craneWould hide from all your Saintship’s stain.I grieve to think that you did addSin unto sin; it is too bad.For Finnian could not you persuadeTo yield the copy that you made,Until the King in his behalfRuled-“To each cow belongs her calf”:And then you grew so mad you sworeOn Erin’s face you’d look no more.And crossed the sea the Picts to save,Because you so did misbehaveTo dear Saint Finnian: faith, ’twas illFor you to act so, Columbkille!A saint you were no doubt, no doubt!What pity ’twas you were found out!We know an angel (snob or fool?)To Kiaran showed a common rule,An axe, an auger, and a saw,And told that saint it was the lawOf Heaven that Columbkille should beFar, far above such saints as he;For Columbkille contemned a crown,While he these homely tools laid down,To serve the Lord, and that the LordTo each would give his due reward.I wonder if that angel knewThat Christ these tools had laid down too.O Columbkille! O Columbkille!A saint like you must have his will,But for myself I’d rather beThe common sinner that you seeThan make a crane ashamed of me,And angels talk such idiocy.E. J. V. HUIGINN
Columbkille! Saint Columbkille!You naughty man, Saint Columbkille!Why did you Finnian’s Psalter takeAnd secretly a copy make?You know ’twas such a naughty thingFor one descended from a kingTo lock himself into a cell,’Twas far from right,-you knew it well,—And copy Finnian’s Psalter through,Against his will as well you knew.And then to think a common birdShould feel such shame, that when he heardThe breathing spy outside your door,And felt your sainthood was no more,Should through the crack attack the spy,And in a rage pluck out his eye,As if that saintly Irish craneWould hide from all your Saintship’s stain.I grieve to think that you did addSin unto sin; it is too bad.For Finnian could not you persuadeTo yield the copy that you made,Until the King in his behalfRuled-“To each cow belongs her calf”:And then you grew so mad you sworeOn Erin’s face you’d look no more.And crossed the sea the Picts to save,Because you so did misbehaveTo dear Saint Finnian: faith, ’twas illFor you to act so, Columbkille!A saint you were no doubt, no doubt!What pity ’twas you were found out!We know an angel (snob or fool?)To Kiaran showed a common rule,An axe, an auger, and a saw,And told that saint it was the lawOf Heaven that Columbkille should beFar, far above such saints as he;For Columbkille contemned a crown,While he these homely tools laid down,To serve the Lord, and that the LordTo each would give his due reward.I wonder if that angel knewThat Christ these tools had laid down too.O Columbkille! O Columbkille!A saint like you must have his will,But for myself I’d rather beThe common sinner that you seeThan make a crane ashamed of me,And angels talk such idiocy.
E. J. V. HUIGINN