โ€œ๐™„๐™ฉโ€™๐™จ ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š ๐™จ๐™ค๐™ฃ๐™œ ๐™ค๐™› ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š ๐™ฃ๐™š๐™ฌ ๐™ก๐™ž๐™›๐™š ๐™ค๐™› ๐™Ž๐™ฉ. ๐™‹๐™–๐™ฉ๐™ง๐™ž๐™˜๐™ , ๐™ฌ๐™๐™ค ๐™จ๐™๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™š๐™™ ๐™๐™ž๐™จ ๐™ก๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ ๐™›๐™ค๐™ง ๐˜พ๐™๐™ง๐™ž๐™จ๐™ฉ. ๐™„๐™ฉโ€™๐™จ ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š ๐™จ๐™ค๐™ฃ๐™œ ๐™ค๐™› ๐™ฃ๐™š๐™ฌ ๐™ก๐™ž๐™›๐™š ๐™ž๐™ฃ ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š ๐™จ๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™œ๐™š๐™งโ€™๐™จ ๐™๐™š๐™–๐™ง๐™ฉ, ๐™ฌ๐™๐™š๐™ง๐™š ๐™‚๐™ค๐™™ ๐™จ๐™๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™š๐™จ ๐™ƒ๐™ž๐™จ ๐™›๐™ค๐™ง๐™œ๐™ž๐™ซ๐™š๐™ฃ๐™š๐™จ๐™จ ๐™ž๐™ฃ ๐™– ๐™จ๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™›๐™ช๐™ก ๐™จ๐™ค๐™ช๐™ก.โ€

 

St. Dallanโ€™s original name was Eochaid Mac Colla. The word โ€œdallanโ€ means โ€œlittle blind one,โ€ and Dallan earned this nickname after supposedly losing his sight from intense study. Dallan, who was a descendant of the legendary High King Colla Uais, was a famous Irish Christian monk, poet, and scholar who is believed to have penned โ€œRop tรบ mo Baileโ€ (Be Thou My Vision). Though Dallan was killed by pirates who broke into his island monastery, his poetry lived on for centuries in the Irish monastic tradition.

 

In 1905, Mary Elizabeth Byrne translated the poem into English, and in 1912, Eleanor Hull versified the text of โ€œBe Thou My Vision.โ€ In 1927, David Evans set the hymn to the tune โ€œSlaneโ€ (an old Irish folk tune) and published it in the Church Hymnary. โ€œSlane” is named for a hill in County Meath, Ireland, where St. Patrick is said to have lit his famous Easter fire in 433 AD.

 

Legend holds that High King Logaire of Tara had decreed that no one in his kingdom could light a fire until he kicked off the pagan spring festival with a ritual fire on Tara Hill. Supposedly, Patrick defied this decree and Logaire was so fascinated by Patrickโ€™s faith in God (as well as his willingness to risk his life in defying a powerful king) that Logaire allowed Patrick to continue his missionary work in Ireland.

 

๐—•๐—ฒ ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ผ๐˜‚ ๐—บ๐˜† ๐—ฉ๐—ถ๐˜€๐—ถ๐—ผ๐—ป ๐—ถ๐˜€ ๐—ฎ ๐˜€๐˜๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐˜† ๐—ผ๐—ณ ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—š๐—ผ๐˜€๐—ฝ๐—ฒ๐—น. In Godโ€™s timing, He took what the world ignored and made it into something beautiful. As far as man was concerned, music like Rop tรบ mo Baile and Slane were dead–nothing more but irrelevant fragments from antiquity. ๐—•๐˜‚๐˜ ๐—š๐—ผ๐—ฑ ๐˜๐—ผ๐—ผ๐—ธ ๐˜„๐—ต๐—ฎ๐˜ ๐˜„๐—ฎ๐˜€ ๐—ฑ๐—ฒ๐—ฎ๐—ฑ ๐—ฎ๐—ป๐—ฑ ๐—บ๐—ฎ๐—ฑ๐—ฒ ๐—ถ๐˜ ๐—ฎ๐—น๐—ถ๐˜ƒ๐—ฒ ๐—ฎ๐—ด๐—ฎ๐—ถ๐—ป. ๐—›๐—ฒ ๐˜๐—ผ๐—ผ๐—ธ ๐˜„๐—ต๐—ฎ๐˜ ๐˜„๐—ฎ๐˜€ ๐—ฎ๐—ป๐—ฐ๐—ถ๐—ฒ๐—ป๐˜ ๐—ฎ๐—ป๐—ฑ ๐—บ๐—ฎ๐—ฑ๐—ฒ ๐—ถ๐˜ ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐˜„. 

 

So is Be Thou my Vision an old song? Yes and no. Just like He took dusty pages of lyrics and infused it with new life, ๐—›๐—ฒ ๐˜๐—ผ๐—ผ๐—ธ ๐˜‚๐˜€ ๐—ฎ๐—ป๐—ฑ ๐—ผ๐˜‚๐—ฟ ๐˜€๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ณ๐˜‚๐—น ๐—ณ๐—น๐—ฒ๐˜€๐—ต ๐—ฎ๐—ป๐—ฑ ๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ณ๐˜‚๐˜€๐—ฒ๐—ฑ ๐˜‚๐˜€ ๐˜„๐—ถ๐˜๐—ต ๐—›๐—ถ๐˜€ ๐—ฆ๐—ฝ๐—ถ๐—ฟ๐—ถ๐˜. 

 

๐—•๐—ฒ ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ผ๐˜‚ ๐—บ๐˜† ๐—ฉ๐—ถ๐˜€๐—ถ๐—ผ๐—ป ๐—ถ๐˜€ ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐˜€๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ด ๐—ผ๐—ณ ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐˜„ ๐—น๐—ถ๐—ณ๐—ฒ. Itโ€™s the song of the new life of St. Patrick, who shined his light for Christ. Itโ€™s the song of new life in the singerโ€™s heart, where God shines His forgiveness in a sinful soul. And it is the song of new life for the hymn itself, which millions now enjoy again after centuries of obscurity.

 

No oneโ€™s story is done whose pages rest in the hands of the Father. No song is too old that it cannot be sung again in the choir of Godโ€™s grace. ๐—•๐—ฒ ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ผ๐˜‚ ๐—บ๐˜† ๐—ฉ๐—ถ๐˜€๐—ถ๐—ผ๐—ป ๐—ถ๐˜€ ๐—ฎ ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐—บ๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ฑ๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฎ๐˜ ๐—บ๐—ฎ๐—ปโ€™๐˜€ ๐˜„๐—ฎ๐˜†๐˜€ ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ ๐—ป๐—ผ๐˜ ๐—š๐—ผ๐—ฑโ€™๐˜€ ๐˜„๐—ฎ๐˜†๐˜€. The mist descends in the hills and rises to the sky. The mossy mountains crumble and groan. ๐˜ฝ๐™ช๐™ฉ ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š ๐™œ๐™ง๐™–๐™˜๐™š ๐™ค๐™› ๐™‚๐™ค๐™™ ๐™จ๐™๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™š๐™จ ๐™—๐™ง๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ, ๐™–๐™จ ๐™ž๐™ฉ ๐™™๐™ž๐™™ ๐™ค๐™ฃ ๐™Ž๐™ก๐™–๐™ฃ๐™š ๐™ƒ๐™ž๐™ก๐™ก ๐™ž๐™ฃ ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š ๐™™๐™–๐™ฎ๐™จ ๐™ค๐™› ๐™Ž๐™ฉ. ๐™‹๐™–๐™ฉ๐™ง๐™ž๐™˜๐™ .

 

 

Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart;

naught be all else to me, save that thou art –

thou my best thought, by day or by night;

waking or sleeping, thy presence my light.

 

Be thou my wisdom, and thou my true word;

I ever with thee and thou with me, Lord.

Thou my great Father; thine own may I be,

thou in me dwelling and I one with thee.

 

Riches I heed not, nor vain, empty praise;

thou mine inheritance, now and always;

thou and thou only first in my heart,

high King of heaven, my treasure thou art.

 

High King of heaven, my victory won,

may I reach heavenโ€™s joys, O bright heavenโ€™s sun!

Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,

still be my vision, O Ruler of all.

 

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