Arrange the following old Irish legend into paragraphs:—

Many years ago there, was a very religious and holy man, one of the monks of a convent, and he was one day kneeling at his prayers in the garden of his monastery when he heard a little bird singing in one of the rose-trees of the garden, and there never was anything that he had heard in the world so sweet as the song of that little .bird. The holy man rose up from his knees where he was. kneeling at his prayers to listen to its song; for he thought he never in all his life heard anything so heavenly. And the little bird, after singing for some time longer on the rose-tree, flew away to a grove at some distance from the monastery, and the holy man followed it to listen to its singing, for he felt as if he would never be tired of listening to the sweet song it was singing out of its throat. Then the little bird went away to another distant tree and sang there for a while, and then to another tree, and so on in the same manner, but ever farther and farther away from the monastery, and the holy man still followed it farther, and farther, and farther, still listening delighted to its enchanting song. But at last he was obliged to give up, as it was growing late in the day, and he returned to the convent. As he approached it in the evening the sun was setting in the west with all the most heavenly colours that were ever seen in the world, and when he came into the convent it was nightfall. He was quite surprised at everything he saw, for they were all strange faces about him in the monastery and the very place itself, and everything about it, seemed to be strangely altered. Altogether, it seemed entirely different from what it was when he had left in the morning; and the garden was not like the garden where he had been kneeling at his devotions when he first heard the singing of the little bird.