Oh draw near, Great Love Divine, and sooth my waiting mind.
Whiting Bay and Holy Isle, surely all are thine, within my heart appears the long forgotten saints.
Passing holy hours, like a tired monk I wait to find you in the maze of liturgies and pathways.
My naked head does burn, like earthly passions turn, to a higher calling, to vistas set eternal.
With a yearning voice so strong, I turn to what I long, to find my peace in thee.
May the mountains of the isles teach me humility of heart, to see beyond the peaks of shortcomngs to higher views of Love.
The sweeping vistas of Love, higher than the highest peak, swirling winds appear.
The joy of meeting departed ones, to commune again on the shores of thine Isles, I wait, I come.