And Benedictine lore with labor blends.
Here, with all holy memories possessed,
With loving thoughts of that sea-severed West,
The pilgrim knelt—in that peace-shadowed place
Mingling his prayers with Ireland’s tearful race.
Kneeling afar at shrine his hand had raised,
While hearts, his lips had taught, St. Patrick praised,
In love, ’neath western clouds and Provence’ sun,
The Latin priest and Celtic flock were one.
O great St. Patrick! each day grows more wide