St. Brendan, he sailed o'er the western seas,
With stars as his guide and with sail and with breeze,
With God as his helper, his helmsman who guides,
His boat is his church and his friend is the tide,
With saintly men round him, he journeyed the foam,
Strange birds and strange fishes and waters unknown.

For he tried to seek land that was promised to all,
Twas taught of in stories and westward it called,
St. Brendan and those who were with him who sailed,
Just like the Milesians sought out Innisfail.

I'm sure you have heard of Hy-Brasilin lore,
Of Gaels who had travelled to western shores,
With a boat made of oak and the hide of an ox,
You were, ah, but a master to all of your flock,
Through storm and through calm and in tempest and fog,
The spiritual tales of your journey did log.

For you bade your disciples they be not afraid,
For they feared and they wondered on all that they gazed,
And the seas that you voyaged, strange lands that you called,
Your own native Kerry you loved above all.

You saw islands of sheep and saw mountains of fire,
And beasts that devoured and an island of choirs,
Pillars of crystal and rivers so wide,
And beaches that ran out for miles with the tide,
You have eaten strange foods and you drank from strange wells,
Saw fountains and demons you thought of as hell.

And an island of grapes, oh, who knows where it lay?
On a sea that was clear, sailed for many a day,
For St. Brendan, you searched for some mystic terrain,
With the way of the cross it would not be in vain.

From the church of Ardfert to Mountain Brandon's tall reeds,
May the ruins of the abbey past glories they speak,
Be it legend or fable, the stories of Gaels,
To many lands travelled where boats could hoist sail,
From the cross of Iona to the plains of Ukraine,
One sang out your praises; remembered your name.

Your stories and travels revered with renown,
Through centuries later, wise scribes written down,
And today as our ships sail with honour and grace,
Be the sailor St. Brendan the guide of our race.