The cells of the monks were placed at the foot of the hill by the water's edge, and it was not long before the young men of Tir-Connell came flocking to Daire to give themselves to the service of God under the rule of their young kinsman.
It was in this beloved church of Derry that it was given so often to Columba to behold the angels adoring their Lord on His altar throne, and to hear the melody of their voices as they sang the eternal song of praise.
Prayer, labour, and study divided the hours of the day, and young as was the abbot, the hand that governed, though gentle, was very firm. Columba had learnt from his holy masters in the spiritual life to lead his monks by example even more than by precept. He slept on the bare ground, with a skin for covering and a stone for pillow. Three times in the night he rose to pray, and his food was of the scantiest and poorest description. "Though my devotion is great," he would say, "I sit in a chair of glass, for I am frail and fleshly." No work was too menial for him, and he would carry the sacks of grain on his strong shoulders from the mill to the kitchen like the humblest brother. His austerities were the admiration of his monks, who strove in all things to follow the example set before them.
Of all the foundations of Columba, and we are told of no less than thirty-seven, Derry was the one that remained always the dearest to his heart, and many of the sweet songs of his making celebrate its praises.
The reason I love Daire is
For its peace and its purity,
And for its crowds of white angels
From one end to the other.
My Daire, my little oak grove,
My dwelling, my dear little cell;
O Eternal God in Heaven above,
Woe be to him who violates it,
sings the Saint in the soft Erse or Gaelic of his native land. "On every leaf of the oaks of Derry," he would say, "there sits a white angel listening to the brethren as they sing the praises of God."
The dear oak trees of Derry were never to be cut down, and if one were uprooted by the storm it was to lie for nine days before it was divided between the poor and the guest-house of the monastery.
There was a hamlet on the northern side of the hill, and a hundred poor were fed every day by the monks of Derry. Once during a thunderstorm some of the wretched little houses caught tire. The people hastened to Columba, who went at once to the church. There with outstretched arms he poured forth his soul in supplication before the altar, and the fire ceased at his prayer.
A fragment of the rule in use amongst the old Celtic monasteries has been preserved, in which we can see the spirit of the monks of Columba's time: