At sunrise when the matins-bell Made a cold silvery music fall Through silence of each lonely cell And over every fold and stall, St. Colum called his monks to come And follow him to where his hands Would raise the Great Cross of the Dumb Upon the Holy Island's sands....

Then the bells for matins ring, And the grey friars past it go, Into church in double row, And it hears the chaunts they sing.

Quand on est jeune, on a des matins triomphants, Le jour sort de la nuit comme d'une victoire; 'Mais, vieux, on tremble ainsi qu'à l'hiver le bouleau.