Oh! cease this strain, nor longer dare
Thy Fionn, or his chiefs, compare
With him who reigns in matchless might,
The King of kings enthroned in light.
’Tis he who frames the heavens and earth;
’Tis he who nerves the hero’s hand;
’Tis he who calls fair fields to birth,
And bids each blooming branch expand:
He gives the fishy streams to run,
And lights the moon and radiant sun.
What deeds like these, though great his fame,
Canst thou ascribe to Fionn’s name?