The Hermitage

This fine poem is ascribed to St.Manchan of Lemmaghan in Ofialy, which
takes its name from him, but it is some centuries after his time. It
is an interesting example of the backward-looking tendency of Irish
literature, religious and secular.

Grant me sweet Christ the grace to find—
  Son of the living God!-
A small hut in a lonesome spot
  To make it my abode.

A little pool but very clear
  To stand beside the place
Where all men’s sins are washed away
  By sanctifying grace.

A pleasant woodland all about
  To shield it from the wind,
And make a home for singing birds
  Before it and behind.

A southern aspect for the heat,
  A stream along its foot,
A smooth green lawn with rich top soil
  Propitious to all fruit.

My choice of men to live with me
  And pray to God as well;
Quiet men of humble mind-—
  Their number I shall tell.

Four files of three or three of four
  To give the psalter forth;
Six to pray by the south church wall
  And six along the north.

Two by two my dozen friends—
  To tell the number right—
Praying with me to move the King
  Who gives the sun its light.

A lovely church, a home for God,
  Bedecked with linen fine,
Where over the white Gospel page
  The Gospel candles shine.

A little house where all may dwell
  And body’s care be sought,
Where none shows lust or arrogance,
  None thinks an evil thought.

And all I ask for housekeeping
  I get and pay no fees,
Leeks from the garden, poultry, game,
  Salmon and trout and bees.

My share of clothing and of food
  From the King of fairest face,
And I to sit at times alone
  And pray in every place.



Source: O'Connor, Frank; Kings, Lords, & Commons: An Anthology from
the Irish; London; Macmillan & Co Ltd; 1962;p.5