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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ENGLISH CHURCHES, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: How beautiful they stand, / those ancient altars of our native land
Last Line: Better in time of need than shield and spear!
Alternate Author Name(s): Botham, Mary


How beautiful they stand,
Those ancient altars of our native land!
Amid the pasture fields and dark green woods,
Amid the mountain's cloudy solitudes;
By rivers broad that rush into the sea;
By little brooks that with a lapsing sound,
Like playful children, run by copse and lea:
Each in its little plot of holy ground,
How beautiful they stand,
Those old grey churches of our native land!

Our lives are all turmoil;
Our souls are in a weary strife and toil,
Grasping and straining -- tasking nerve and brain,
-- Both day and night for gain!
We have grown worldly: have made gold our god:
Have turned our hearts away from lowly things:
We seek not now the wild flower on the sod;
We see not snowy-folded angels' wings
Amid the summer-skies;
For visions come not to polluted eyes!

Yet, blessed quiet fanes!
Still piety, still poetry remains,
And shall remain, whilst ever on the air
One chapel-bell calls high and low to prayer, --
Whilst ever green and sunny churchyards keep
The dust of one beloved, and tears are shed,
From founts which in the human heart lie deep!
Something in these aspiring days we need
To keep our spirits lowly,
To set within our hearts sweet thoughts and holy!

And 't is for this they stand,
The old grey churches of our native land!
And even in the gold-corrupted mart,
In the great city's heart,
They stand; and chanting dim and organ sound
And stated services of prayer and praise,
Like to the righteous ten who were not found
For the polluted city, shall upraise,
Meek faith and love sincere, --
Better in time of need than shield and spear!





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