There kneels in holy St. Cuthbert’s aisles
No holier Father than Father Giles:
Matins or Vespers, it matters not which,
He is ever there like a saint in his niche;
Morning and midnight his Missal he reads,
Midnight and morning he tells his beads.
Wide-spread the fame of that holy man!
Potent his blessing, and dreaded his ban:
Wondrous the marvels his piety works