On the cliff top stood a tall tower,
not too far from the water so deep,
where from the window would lower,
a ladder, for the stone stairs were steep.

The stairs went to the waves so gray,
where me and the mermaids play
while the winds puffed and were gay,
and all the humans in town doth sleep.

Hark! From the tower was a sound
both fair and soft breath so light,
which breathes on my breast around,
on and on into the moon lit night.

O Prophet, we hold your hand but now
to save humans from hellish things,
a pilgrim at thy tall tower I'll bow,
laden with gold and pious offerings.

Hellish things pass and too wild legion
cease to thunder at the waters door;
Fleeting through nights dark region,
and now they return to humans no more.

Clanking chains and sounds of woe
fill the mountain forests as they go;
And the tall pines bend and cower low,
bending in flaming flight before.

On and on these strong white wings,
bore on winds afar with fiery fear,
till scarce the breeze will now brings
dim murmuring to my once deaf ear.

The sound grows loud, more and more,
but fades when we are near the shore,
where the ripples and waves grow faint
and on the stone wall a message paint.

Thank you for the wings of the blessed saint,
and the courage to hear, and not grow faint
as all around the blessings we all now list,
the words on the wall we can all now trace,
and utter the blessed words but not efface.