A Tenth Century Irish Monk's Poem on Distraction
Such scandal, my thoughts how they slip away; I dread the woe to come reaped on Judgment Day.
Across the psalms they go on paths not right they run, they shout, they dance under the very eye of God.
Through crowded assemblies, through groups of giggling girls, through woods, through town faster than the wind.
They take the path of virtue at times without a doubt, then off again on wicked ways they're just as sure to go.
They start off with evil steps, without boat across every sea, with only one quick leap, jump from earth to heaven.
They run but not a race too wise, bounding here and there, after voyages indiscreet return home to me.
Though one tries to bind them by fettering their feet they never wish to settle, they do not care to sleep.
The sound of whipping seems not to slow their flight, like the tail of an eel they slip through my grasp.
Firm lock nor vaulted cell nor any chain or bond fort nor sea nor dungeon bare can halt their run.
O truly chaste and gentle Christ, my every thought You clearly see; may the Spirit of the seven graces keep them, restrain them.
Rule my heart O Creator just, that I may have Your blessing, that I may do Your will.
O Christ, give me Your love that we may be as one, You are infinite, not subject to weakness as I am.
translated by Bob Willoughby and John Caball, found in Voices From Ancient Ireland: A Book of Early Irish Poetry.
