With confidence You may trust me, for I'm not, Though a slave, a fugitive. Lord! how gladly do I live In this solitary spot, Where my soul in raptured prayer May adore Thee, or in trance See the living countenance Of Thy prodigies so rare! Human wisdom, earlthly lore, Solitude reveals and reaches; What diviner wisdom teaches In it, too, I would explore. (PAUL: Tell me, talking thus apart, Who it is on whom you call?) Great primeval cause of all, Thou, O Lord, in all things art! These blue heavens, these crystal skies Formed of dazzling depths of light, In which sun, moon, stars unite, Are they not but draperies Hung before Thy heavenly land?-- The discordant elements, Water, fire, earth, air immense, Prove they not Thy master hand? Or in dark or brightsome hours, Praise they not Thy power and might? O'er the earth dost Thou not write In the characters of flowers Thy great goodness? And the air, In reverberating thunder, Does it not in fear and wonder Say, O Lord, that Thou art there? Are not, too, Thy praises sung By the fire and water -- each Dowered for this divinest speech, With tongue the wave, the flame with tongue? Here, then, in this lonely place I, O Lord, may better be, Since in all things I find Thee. Thou hast given to me the grace Of Obedience, Faith, and Fear; As a slave, then, let me stay, Or remove me where I may Serve Thee truly, if not here.* (An Angel descends, holding in one hand a shield in which is a mirror, and in the other hand a letter. [footnote) *For the earlier version of this prayer, see Note. * * * * * (ANGEL: Patrick!) Ah! who calls me?

Patrick Monologue from The Purgatory of St. Patrick

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