. . . a native . . . a glorious example of the converting grace of
God. To hear the word of Life this native would travel over
every part of the island . . . fearing she might lose a single
gospel sermon. She was a woman of no ordinary mind.

Rev. Edwin F. Hatfield, St. Helena and the Cape of Good Hope: Incidents in the Missionary Life of the Rev. James McGregor Bertram of St. Helena, 1852
Shoes on my feet, I am climbing,
once again the girl born on an island,
climbing like a prayer
singing, Lordlord-lordlordlord

I am a simple woman given to simple speech
and there is no one plainer tho I burn
bright - a newborn star - when I am
singing, Lordlord-lordlordlord
as the sun hits the backs of my eyes
where letters burn black.

In the wind - the names of cities:
Paris, London, haunting our young.
Burn the ships! Put up the jetties! Fold them
like linens for which there is no more use
and the ocean will wash, wash,
wash away those punishing dreams
and where there is noise there will be silence.

Sun in my eyes, shoes on my feet,
girls born on this island
climb mountains of prayer
singing, Lordlord-lordlordlord
for they know they are at anchor.