NeuroDivine

Written on St Patrick’s Night, among Ireland’s saints.

When Patrick walked our island green,
He lit the dark with holy flame;
He lit, he lit the dark with holy flame;
And through our hills he preached Christ’s mercy mild,
His faith still guards our land today.

Rise, Hibernia! Hibernia, rise today;
Your song across the world forever flies.
Rise, Hibernia! Hibernia, rise today;
Your light shall shine—shall shine beneath all skies.

Saint Brigid spread her cloak of peace
Across the plains of fair Kildare;
Across, across the plains of fair Kildare;
Her hearth of welcome shone for every child,
Her light still warms our home today.

Rise, Hibernia! Hibernia, rise today;
Your song across the world forever flies.
Rise, Hibernia! Hibernia, rise today;
Your light shall shine—shall shine beneath all skies.

By Shannon’s banks Saint Ciarán prayed,
He raised Clonmacnoise stone after stone;
He raised, he raised Clonmacnoise stone after stone;
With beasts and bells beside him meek and wild,
His wisdom shapes our way today.

Rise, Hibernia! Hibernia, rise today;
Your song across the world forever flies.
Rise, Hibernia! Hibernia, rise today;
Your light shall shine—shall shine beneath all skies.

In Bangor’s dawn Saint Comgall sang,
His psalms rose pure as morning air;
His psalms, his psalms rose pure as morning air;
He formed his monks in peace and discipline mild,
His courage strengthens hearts today.

Rise, Hibernia! Hibernia, rise today;
Your song across the world forever flies.
Rise, Hibernia! Hibernia, rise today;
Your light shall shine—shall shine beneath all skies.

Christ Jesus, High King of all worlds,
Walked humbly through our fields of clay;
Walked humbly, humbly through our fields of clay;
He broke death’s chain and rose in glory bright,
His cross crowns all our hope today.

Rise, Hibernia! Hibernia, rise today;
Your song across the world forever flies.
Rise, Hibernia! Hibernia, rise today;
Your light shall shine—shall shine 
beneath all skies.

Reflection

On St Patrick’s Night, my mind wandered the way it so often does—tracing strands of sound, memory and feeling of belonging until they spun into a new thing.

A few melodies possess a certain muscle‑memory in the soul. They spring to life before you think about it and drag the body toward singing. Rule, Britannia! is one of those tunes—instantly familiar, steeped in history, informed by a narrative that’s not mine, not ours.

And yet… the tune has a pull of its own. A sensory weight. A lift in the chest. There’s a rhythm that invites breath and voice.

And so I found myself wondering–not in opposition, but from curiosity—what happens when a familiar melody is subtly re‑held. When it isn’t rejected, it gets re‑tuned. When the story is heard from a different perspective, one that feels at home with you.

A line of a poem arose from that speculation:lm

“Rise, Hibernia! Hibernia, rise today.”

From that line, drifted the thought that it could gather the saints of this island—Patrick, Brigid, Ciarán, Comgall—not as distant icons but as companions in the landscape. Their presence is not abstract: it’s sensory and local and textured: hills and rivers, hearth‑glow and monastery stones; the quiet pulse of prayer woven into the land.

The refrain maintains the energy of the first tune but the meaning changes. Not empire, but belonging. Not dominion, but dignity. Not triumph, but tenderness. Not power over, but light shared.

At least there is a quiet transformative force in taking what is familiar and allowing it to breathe a new truth—one grounded in gentleness, in place, in the neurodivergent form of remembering through sensation, rhythm and story.

Maybe that’s part of our vocation too:
not just to inherit, but to remold; not just to remember, but to re‑envision; not just to sing what was but to sing what could yet be.

And perhaps that light is not loud or strong, but steady, sensory and gentle.

© 2026 Michael McFarland Campbell. You are welcome to share or use this poem in worship or reflection. Please credit appropriately and let me know if it is used.