 | Poems by Hartley Coleridge |  |
I.
There was a little spot of level ground,For many an age unmark'd by casual eyes,
Bleak hills afar and sinuous banks around,
And terraced gardens, gradual mound on mound,
With every season's sweet variety.
And there uprose an house devote to God,
As lowly as befits a house of prayer;
Yet large enough to sanctify the sod,
The heaving earth that may conceal a clod,
Which human love may wish to treasure there.
O Lord! methinks to give this spot to Thee
Did hardly need an act of consecration:
I deem the pile no wilful novelty,
But a good purpose—old as Thy creation.
| Poems by Hartley Coleridge | |