Poem by Anonymous

The Hermit

For years, upon a mountain’s brow,
A hermit lived — the Lord knows how.
Hardships and penance were his lot;
He often prayed — the Lord knows what.
A robe of sackcloth he did wear,
And got his food — the Lord knows where.
At last this holy man did die;
He left this world — the Lord knows why.
He’s buried in this gloomy den,
And he will rise — the Lord knows when.

1. The Northern Star
2. Fare Ye Weel, My Auld Wife
3. Loch Ina
4. The Wearing of the Green
5. The Banks o’ Glaizart

Katharine Tynan The Hermit ("Who, counting human joys as vain")

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