At Inishcaltra he learned to write
At his mothers knee to pray
In Italy he learned to fight
In Ireland he was not to stay.
A Holy man to Rome he went
In pilgramage for his soul
The Pope in time gave his consent
To wandering go – he arrived in Fiesole
A distraught people that was there
Praying for deliverance he found
From evils temporal and of the spirit where
The bishop by cruel hands was drowned!
Someone declared that it was he
To save the town was sent to them
So bishop he found himself to be
Who just among them came.
The geltle rule of a clergyman just
Was felt both true and great
Of the people he got the ear and trust
Brought back piety and faith.
He founded San Martino di Mensola abbey of which is spoke
The Saracens he drove from Rome
Heard the confessions of simple folk
Counselled kings and emperors in their home.
When death to him came calling
As he lay drawing his last breaths there
Its said that as the darkness of death was falling
He was visited by Bridget of Kildare…
A simple man who followed Gods will
Who went where Divine Providences wind did blow…
Let us strive to be like him, fulfill
Our destiny that God in His way and Time will show!