Bless the land, O all my being

1.
Bless the Lord, O all my being,
Bless the God who heals and saves;
He forgives our deepest failings,
Lifts us from our darkest graves.
As the dawn on mist‑clad bogland
Spills its gold on heathered earth,
So His mercy wakes creation,
Calling all to praise and birth.

2.
Slow to anger, rich in kindness,
Tender as the falling rain;
As the hare leaps through the meadow,
So His swiftness comes again.
As the ash and oak stand steadfast,
Rooted deep in wind and storm,
So His covenant surrounds us,
Holding every fragile form.

3.
For He knows our frame is fragile,
Dust and breath in fleeting span;
Yet His love, like ancient mountains,
Stands unshaken over man.
Hear the curlew’s evening calling,
See the swans in gliding grace;
Even seals along the shoreline
Lift creation’s song of praise.

4.
On this shore we break the blessing,
Bread of earth and Bread of grace;
Christ, our host, in quiet splendour
Bids the weary take their place.
As the red deer on the hillside
Lifts its head at morning’s light,
So we lift our hearts in wonder
At this feast of love and might.

5.
Cup of kindness, poured like rivers
Running down the mountain’s side;
Cup of mercy, clear as starlight
Seen on tides at eventide.
As the seals rest on the islands,
Held by rock and held by sea,
So in Christ our souls find harbour,
Anchored in His mystery.

6.
In the hush of cloistered stillness,
Where the psalms rise soft and low,
Christ the Lamb, our Paschal healing,
Meets us in the candle‑glow.
Here the veil grows thin with glory,
Heaven leans to earth once more;
All creation joins our feasting—
Bless His name for evermore.

Hymn information

First line: On this shore, you break the bread, Lord
Text: Michael McFarland Campbell
Metre: 87 87 D
Tune: Pleading Saviour or Lux Eoi
Theme: Psalm 103, The Eucharist, Easter

Reflection

On days, blessing the Lord seems simple—like standing on a Donegal headland with the wind in your lungs and the world wide open before you. (Psalm 103:1) Other days the effort feels like lifting a stone that’s just too heavy. Psalm 103 does not pretend otherwise. It simply says:

—not so much that we’re always prepared, but because God is already here (Psalm 103:17 “But the steadfast love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting“),

It was this hymn that carried me back to that truth across the Irish landscape. It’s therapeutic to allow creation to praise on our behalf when our own voices falter (Psalm 103:22 “Bless the Lord, all his works,“). The curlew calling across the bog. Swans gliding with that unhurried certainty. Seals hauled out on the skerries, resting without apology. The result is a sort of prayer that each creature becomes—a prayer not spoken but lived.

And perhaps that’s the core of the Eucharist as well. Not performance, not perfection, but presence. A table where Christ meets us exactly where we are, with our scattered thoughts, our sensory overload, our tenderness, our fatigue (Psalm 103:14 “For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust.“). A table at which the veil thins just a little and we recall that we all belong.

This was the insight the old monks had. They prayed with the tides, with the seasons, with the creatures who shared their islands. They knew blessing God wouldn’t force the soul into shape—it was about noticing the grace already rising like dawn over bogland (Psalm 103:5 “who satisfies you with good as long as you live so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.‘)

So if blessing is out of reach today, let the seals rest for you. Let the swans glide for you. Let the prayer be held by the land until you can pick it up again. Christ is still the host. The feast is still for you.

Copyright

© Michael McFarland Campbell. 2026. 
Permission granted for local church or parish use with attribution. Not for commercial reproduction.

Quotations from Scripture are from the NRSV.

Written recently and shared here as part of the NeuroDivine hymn collection.