The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
40
XV. SHOREHAM CHURCH
Storm and sunshine, summer glory,
August thunder, wintry snow,
Many a human sweet love-story,
Many a tale of wrath and woe,—
Hours of dark funereal anguish,
Hours when 'neath the summer sun
Even the flowers he loves must languish,
Hours when autumn's peace is won—
All of these the church has known,
Gazing from its tower of stone;
Watching gladness change to grief,
Golden to the faded leaf.
August thunder, wintry snow,
Many a human sweet love-story,
Many a tale of wrath and woe,—
Hours of dark funereal anguish,
Hours when 'neath the summer sun
Even the flowers he loves must languish,
Hours when autumn's peace is won—
All of these the church has known,
Gazing from its tower of stone;
Watching gladness change to grief,
Golden to the faded leaf.
Witness here to something holier
Than our cares and strife, it stands.
Round its turrets time creeps slowlier
Than across the changing lands.
Fields of corn in blood may welter,
Human cities reek with crime,—
Here is blessing, here is shelter
From the sins and shocks of time.
Human race succeeds to race,
Still the tower stands in its place.
“Tremble,” cries the wild wind's tongue;
But it answers, “I am young!”
Than our cares and strife, it stands.
41
Than across the changing lands.
Fields of corn in blood may welter,
Human cities reek with crime,—
Here is blessing, here is shelter
From the sins and shocks of time.
Human race succeeds to race,
Still the tower stands in its place.
“Tremble,” cries the wild wind's tongue;
But it answers, “I am young!”
Many a lightning-flash, half-grazing,
Threatens,—still the tower, upright,
At the morning sun is gazing,
Scatheless, at the stars by night.
Though the soul of man may darken,
Still that grey old tower of stone
To the sunrise-hymn will hearken,
Stand erect, alert, alone,
Facing seasons soft or grim,
Watcher when man's eyes grow dim,
Guardian of man's hopes and fears
Through another thousand years.
Threatens,—still the tower, upright,
At the morning sun is gazing,
Scatheless, at the stars by night.
Though the soul of man may darken,
Still that grey old tower of stone
To the sunrise-hymn will hearken,
Stand erect, alert, alone,
Facing seasons soft or grim,
Watcher when man's eyes grow dim,
Guardian of man's hopes and fears
Through another thousand years.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |