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Poem by Robert Stephen Hawker The Well of St. John On Morwenstow Glebe THEY dreamed not in old Hebron, when the sound Went through the city, that the promised son Was born to Zachary, and his name was John,— They little thought that here in this far ground, Beside the Severn sea, that Hebrew child Would be a cherished memory of the wild; Here, where the pulses of the ocean bound Whole centuries away, while one meek cell, Built by the fathers o’er a lonely well, Still breathes the Baptist’s sweet remembrance round: A spring of silent waters with his name, That from the angel’s voice in music came, Here in the wilderness so faithful found, It freshens to this day the Levite’s grassy mound. Robert Stephen Hawker Robert Stephen Hawker's other poems: 1175 Views |
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