“An ainm an Athar, ’s an mhic, ’s an Spioraid Naoimh,” repeated Oran below his breath.
“An ainm 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:
I
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 hath made a sweet savour of burning.
II
A savour of burning, most sweet, a fire for the altar,