There and then
The Rite began: his people's Chief and Head
Beside the font Aengus stood; his face
Sweet as a child's, yet grave as front of eld:
For reverence he had laid his crown aside,
And from the deep hair to the unsandalled feet
Was raimented in white. With mitred head
And massive book, forward Saint Patrick leaned,
Stayed by the gem-wrought crosier. Prayer on prayer
Went up to God; while gift on gift from God,
All Angel-like, invisibly to man,
Descended. Thrice above that princely brow
Patrick the cleansing waters poured, and traced
Three times thereon the Venerable Sign,
Naming the Name Triune. The Rite complete,
Awestruck that concourse downward gazed. At last
Lifting their eyes, they marked the prince's face
That pale it was though bright, anguished and pale,
While from his naked foot a blood-stream gushed
And o'er the pavement welled. The crosier's point,
Weighted with weight of all that priestly form,
Had pierced it through. "Why suffer'dst thou so long
The pain in silence?" Patrick spake, heart-grieved:
Smiling, Aengus answered, "O my Sire,
I thought, thus called to follow Him whose feet
Were pierced with nails, haply the blissful Rite
Bore witness to their sorrows."

At that word
The large eyes of the Apostolic man