Soft gloaming filled the air, Deep peace lay all around, Hushed voices seemed to whisper, A wavelike, murmuring sound. “Sweet Angel, say, where am I,— Say me the Island’s name, And tell me why such glory, Enwraps it as a flame? Say, too, what is that chanting, So sweet, so very near, The strangeness of this beauty It fills my soul with fear?” “This Holy Place is Bardsey, Jesus, He loves it well, ’Tis wrapped in God’s own brightness, Safe from the power of Hell. Those voices are the Virgins, In yonder Abbey Choir, Praises to Jesus singing, Of which they never tire. Hush! mid the shades of evening, How restfully they sing, Their Vesper praise-wreaths bringing To Jesus Christ their King. ’Mid lights of sunset glowing, St. Mary’s Abbey stands; But see! t’is wrapped in glories, From far off better Lands.” I looked again, and started, For lo! another scene. The Convent is surrounded With Heaven’s own brightest sheen. And choirs of Angels hover High in the sunset air, While th’ holy monks are chanting Their peaceful, evening prayer. The Monastery is glowing, Like heaps of molten gold; The walls seem all transparent, With majesty untold. T’is strange; my spirit enters St Mary’s Sacred Shrine, I see the cowlèd figures, In many a white rob’d line, {6} Filling the stalls, but facing The hallow’d Altar Throne, Where Jesus makes His dwelling, Untended and alone. O peaceful, happy Bardsey, Sweet Islet of the Sea! I would for ever rest me, All joyfully in thee! O dear St. Marys Abbey, On Bardsey’s northern shore; Would I could bide within thee, And part from thee no more! O happy Monks and Virgins, Singing by night and day, Your hymnals to Sweet Jesus, In dearest, fondest lay! How can I speak your glory, How can I tell your worth? Ye are the Church’s safeguard; Ye are the “Salt of earth.” Ye live the life of Angels; Ye never cease from praise, To Heaven your intercedings For sinners ceaseless raise. Ah! well may throngs of sinners Seek this most Sacred Isle, Well may ten thousand pilgrims Visit St. Mary’s pile. Well may’st thou, Aberdaron, {8} Loving to Bardsey be, And daily turn thy glances To the Islet out at sea. For Bardsey is the lighthouse Of many a shipwrecked soul; To many a way-worn wanderer Is Bardsey’s Isle the goal. The glow of Bardsey’s brightness, Illumes wild Cambria’s shores, Across the Irish Channel, Her Heavenly light she pours. And blessed saints in thousands Have dwelt on Bardsey’s hill, Sending her countless Virgins Celestial choirs to fill. How Jesus must love Bardsey, And prize her sacred soil; Here Saints in countless numbers