On the open coast of the isle of Iona stands an ancient
monument to the Lord.
Tall are her towers and steep are her turrets, with walls of
antiquity stone.
Many days she has seen and much destruction endured.
Her thoughts are a mystery, yet through the ages she has
stood.
Despite the raids of Norsemen cruel, harsh weather and tides
of rough ocean water,
Her heart remains strong and beats like thunder upon the
green grass of the isles holy ground.
She stands in love and ancient prayer,
The monastery on Iona, like a monolith to the Son of Man.
Prayers rise there to heaven like incense pure,
as the waves of tall grass blow to and fro.
The tides come in and out like the grace of God that never
fails.
Yet stranded not are monks of the mighty hill.
Chants meet heavens door from age to age,
In praise and glory God is lifted in blessed praise.
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