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I landed on Iona's holy isle,

And wander'd through its ancient ruins bare,

And felt the great Columba's self was there.

Thirteen long centuries seem'd 'a little while'

Before the unchanging sea and sky, whose smile

He knew. He trod these paths; he breathed this air;

These waves once roll'd responsive to his prayer,

Whose murmuring ripples now my ear beguile.

Nor to the Saint alone closer I stand,

Nearer the LORD I seem, upon this shore;

The solid rock of this historic strand

Helps me to bridge Time's waste of waters o'er,

And grasp His feet, and feel His loving hand

In Whom all saints are one for evermore!

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