"It is a fiend," said Oran.
"It is an angel," said Keir.
Thereupon the fly settled upon the wall again, and again droned his drowsy hot hum.
"Little black beast," said Colum, with the frown coming down into his eyes, "is it for peace you are here, or for sin? Answer, I conjure you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!"
"An ainn an Athar, 's an Mhic, 's an Spioraid Naoimh," repeated Oran below his breath.
"An ainn an Athar, 's an Mhic, 's an Spioraid Naoimh," repeated Keir below his breath.
Then the fly that was upon the wall flew up to the roof and circled to and fro. And it sang a beautiful song, and its song was this:
Praise be to God, and a blessing too at that, and a blessing!
For Colum the White, Colum the Dove, hath worshipped;
Yea, he hath worshipped and made of a desert a garden,
And out of the dung of men's souls have made a sweet savour of burning.
A savour of burning, most sweet, a fire for the altar,
This he hath made in the desert; the hell-saved all gladden.
Sure he hath put his benison, too, on milch-cow and bullock,
On the fowls of the air, and the man-eyed seals, and the otter.
But high in His Dûn in the great blue mainland of heaven,
God the All-Father broodeth, where the harpers are harping His glory:
There where He sitteth, where a river of ale poureth ever,
His great sword broken, His spear in the dust, He broodeth.