Where Ely Rises from the Fens

1
Where Ely rises from the fens
In silver light and rain,
You led Saint Etheldreda on
To walk Your holy plain.
Where bitterns boom in marsh‑cell dusk
And harriers wheel the sky,
She kept her vigil by the tide,
With God her guardian nigh.

2
Where otters slip through tidal reeds
With playful, gladdening grace,
She learned the joy that springs from You
In every hidden place.
The kingfisher’s bright flash of blue,
The eel’s slow, ancient glide,
Became for her a wordless psalm
Of You, her River‑Guide.

3
Where lapwings cry and curlews call,
She drank from wells of peace;
In woven light and quiet hours
She found her soul's release.
Lord, draw us to those waters too,
Where soul meets You again;
Let Christ, our Spring of life, renew
The barren fields within.

4
As rivers seek their homeward course,
So lead our hearts to Yours;
Let streams of quiet mercy flow
To heal our earthly shores.
All praise to You, O Three‑in‑One,
Whom saints and angels bless;
With Etheldreda we adore
Your love and holiness

A Tale of Two Etheldredas

A Reflection for the Feast Day

It is an unlikely spiritual friendship. By all accounts of geography, an Ulsterman from Ballymena, County Antrim, now living amidst the flat pastures of County Kildare, should have little reason to hold a deep affection for a seventh-century Anglo-Saxon queen turned abbess from the marshy fens of East Anglia. Saint Etheldreda is not a saint from “round here.” She belongs to an English landscape of wind-worn reeds and tidal floods, far from the hills of County Antrim or the plains of the Province of Leinster.

Yet, grace rarely follows the maps we draw.

My connection to Ely’s island saint does not come from a historical text, but from a living presence in Ballymena—a native of Tipperary, a Sister of St Louis, who bore the ancient saint’s name. To the wider world of the town and its surrounding hinterland, she was simply “the walking nun.” In an era when most of her order had transitioned to lay clothes, she remained steadfastly in her recognizable religious habit. She was unmistakable, an intentional signpost of her calling.

But to me, she wasn’t just a figure in the landscape. She was my friend.

It was through the warmth, the conversation, and the unique spirit of this elderly Irish Sister that the door to the ancient English saint was opened for me. In the steadfast, daily presence of “the walking nun” navigating the roads of Mid-Antrim, I caught a glimpse of that other Etheldreda, who centuries earlier had walked the holy, solitary plains of Ely.

Today, on this feast day, my prayer bridges centuries and borders. I give distinct thanks for both of these remarkable women: the ancient English saint of the fens and the elderly, friendly Irish sister of the roads. Though separated by a millennium and a sea, they are united now in the same eternal light. Both kept their vigils, both drank from hidden wells of peace, and both are now home with God.

Hymn information

First line: Where Ely rises from the fens
Text: Michael McFarland Campbell
Metre: DCM
Tune: Kingsfold
Thene: St Etheldreda

© 2026 Michael McFarland Campbell. Permission granted for local church use with attribution. Not for commercial reproduction without permission.