In the Monastery

Norreys Jephson O'Conor

Cold is the wind to-night, and rough the sea,
Too rough for even the daring Dane to find
A landing-place upon the frozen lea.
                              Cold is the wind.
The blast sweeps round the chapel from behind,
Making the altar-light flare fitfully,
While I must kneel and pray with troubled mind.
Patrick and Brigid, I have prayed to ye!
The night is over, and my task resigned
To Colum.  Though God's own dwelling shelter me,
                              Cold is the wind.

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