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Inscription for the Ruin of a Village Cross Hathern, Leicestershire THE SIMPLE folk once used to throng These mouldering steps beneath, And every child that passed along Its soft petitions breathe, In pious days of yore. The workingmen at dawn of day Were here assembled kneeling, And to their labor bore away A calm of holy feeling, In Christian days of yore. Till once a stalwart company Of men with gloomy faces, Unlike the men ye used to see In such-like holy places In quiet days of yore, With savage hands pulled down the sign Of our Redeemer’s sorrow, And promised in more force to join, And break the rest to-morrow,— Hating the days of yore. But Providence from then till now This remnant hath befriended, And by this shaft and time-worn steps The memory hath defended Of the good days of yore. And still, whene’er the good and great On common times pass nigh me, Though no petition they repeat, Nor kneel in silence by me, As in the days of yore; Yet blessed thoughts upon their hearts From Heaven come gently stealing, And each from this gray ruin parts With calmer, holier feeling, Blessing the days of yore. Henry Alford's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1195 |
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