To Mont St. Michel

But thou shouldst be our Athos, sacred mountain of the west
Thou cross-guard of the Angel's sword across Europa's breast
And as thy shores collideth with the northern norman coast
Drive thou thy sword point foe-ward by the archangelic host
And slice our hard hearts open with the motion of the same
Smite us with the terror of the never-rivalled name
Sever our communion with the princes of the air
Spare us not from judgement as we place us in your care