But on the fern-wove mattress lay
No weary guest.  St. Colum kneeled,
And found no trace; but, ashen-grey,
Far off he heard glad anthems pealed.

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....

“For I shall call from out the Deep
And from the grey fields of the skies,
The brethren we as outcasts keep,
Our kindred of the dumb wild eyes....

“Behold, on this Christ’s natal morn,
God wills the widening of His laws,
Another miracle to be born—­
For lo, our guest an Angel was!...

“His Dream the Lord Christ gave to him
To bring to us as Christ-Day food,
That Dream shall rise a holy hymn
And hang like a flower upon the Rood!...”

Thereat, while all with wonder stared
St. Colum raised the Holy Tree: 
Then all with Christ-Day singing fared
To where the last sands lipped the sea.

St. Colum raised his arms on high ... 
“O ye, all creatures of the wing,
Come here from out the fields o’ the sky,
Come, here and learn a wondrous thing!”

At that the wild clans of the air
Came sweeping in a mist of wings—­
Ospreys and fierce solanders there,
Sea-swallows wheeling mazy rings,

The foam-white mew, the green-black scart,
The famishing hawk, the wailing tern,
All birds from the sand-building mart
To lonely bittern and heron....

St. Colum raised beseeching hands
And blessed the pastures of the sea: 
“Come, all ye creatures, to the sands,
Come and behold the Sacred Tree!”

At that the cold clans of the wave
With spray and surge and splash appeared: 
Up from each wrack-strewn, lightless cave
Dim day-struck eyes affrighted peered.

The pollacks came with rushing haste,
The great sea-cod, the speckled bass;
Along the foaming tideway raced
The herring-tribes like shimmering glass: 

The mackerel and the dog-fish ran,
The whiting, haddock, in their wake: 
The great sea-flounders upward span,
The fierce-eyed conger and the hake: 

The greatest and the least of these
From hidden pools and tidal ways
Surged in their myriads from the seas
And stared at St. Columba’s face.

“Hearken,” he cried, with solemn voice—­
“Hearken! ye people of the Deep,
Ye people of the skies, Rejoice! 
No more your soulless terror keep!

“For lo, an Angel from the Lord
Hath shown us that wherein we sin—­
But now we humbly do His Word
And call you, Brothers, kith and kin....

“No more we claim the world as ours
And everything that therein is—­
To-day, Christ’s Day, the infinite powers
Decree a common share of bliss.