Where the wild sea-mew flocks and flees,
And neither winds nor skies beguile,
Foam-set amid the Irish seas
Is rugged Skellig Michael isle.
Up its escarpments, rough and grim,
To its bleak summit rimmed with moss,
The monks of old with prayer and hymn
Hewed out the weary “Way of the Cross.”
Gone are these holy toilers–gone;
They rest now in their long repose,
From the red dusk to the red dawn,
‘Neath the sea-pinks and tangled rose.
But sorrow bides with us and ill,
And stress and sacrifice and loss,
And we must strive to meet them still
Climbing the weary “Way of the Cross.”
(Clinton Scollard)
More Poetry from Clinton Scollard:
- The Inn Of The Five Chimneys (Clinton Scollard Poems)
- The Vale Of Shadows (Clinton Scollard Poems)
- A Symphony Of The Sea (Clinton Scollard Poems)
- Sidney Godolphin (Clinton Scollard Poems)
- King Philip's Last Stand (Clinton Scollard Poems)
- Ballad Of Protestant's Leap (Clinton Scollard Poems)