Established by Chaluim Chille, Saint Columba, in the sixth century,
Iona became an island of contemplation, pilgrimage,
And the final resting place of Scottish and Irish Kings.
"The man is little to be envied" wrote Doctor Samuel Johnson "Whose
Patriotism would not gain force upon the plains of Marathon
Or whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins on Iona!"
Hear the waves on the shore
As we bend to our oar
And the murmur of water below
With his sword on his breast
Lies our king at his rest
As to Holy Iona we go
Hear the gulls' distant cry
'Neath the clear open sky
As we pull with the tides gentle flow
Once the bravest and best
Now he sails to his rest
As to Holy Iona we go
Though his clansmen may weep
Still his deeds they will keep
In their songs to remember him by
Full of strength, full of grace
In the battle or chase
Now on Holy Iona he'll lie
Hear the waves on the shore
As we bend to our oar
And the murmur of water below
With his fathers he'll rest
On the isle of the blessed
As to Holy Iona we go
As to Holy Iona we go
Requiscat in pace
Per Christam Dominum nostrum
Requiscat in pace
Per Christam Dominum nostrum
Requiscat in pace
Per Christam Dominum nostrum
Requiscat in pace
Per Christam Dominum nostrum