The Village Church.
I love the simple village church,Though framed uncouth, or sculptured rude,With ivy twining round its porchAmidst a leafy solitude.It’s moss-clad stones, the verdure round,The yew tree’s shadow, dim and wan,The wild-flowers o’er each burial moundSeem speaking more of God than man.Unlike the dark sepulchral vault,In towns where corses crowded lie;Such quiet scenes our thoughts exaltFrom death below to life on high.The Rustic, pointing to the spot,Says “there my father’s ashes rest;”—Whilst cherished feelings, ne’er forgot,With sacred joy suffuse his breast.“Oh! may I live the life he lived,So pious, pure, and free from pride,And when my spirit quits the earthMy bones be buried by his side.“I love this ancient village church;Its pathway my forefathers trod,When from their quiet cottage homesThey hither came to worship God.“In infancy they here were brought,And here their vows of love were sealed,And here their ‘earthly house’ was laidWhen death a higher life revealed.”
I love the simple village church,Though framed uncouth, or sculptured rude,With ivy twining round its porchAmidst a leafy solitude.It’s moss-clad stones, the verdure round,The yew tree’s shadow, dim and wan,The wild-flowers o’er each burial moundSeem speaking more of God than man.Unlike the dark sepulchral vault,In towns where corses crowded lie;Such quiet scenes our thoughts exaltFrom death below to life on high.The Rustic, pointing to the spot,Says “there my father’s ashes rest;”—Whilst cherished feelings, ne’er forgot,With sacred joy suffuse his breast.“Oh! may I live the life he lived,So pious, pure, and free from pride,And when my spirit quits the earthMy bones be buried by his side.“I love this ancient village church;Its pathway my forefathers trod,When from their quiet cottage homesThey hither came to worship God.“In infancy they here were brought,And here their vows of love were sealed,And here their ‘earthly house’ was laidWhen death a higher life revealed.”
I love the simple village church,Though framed uncouth, or sculptured rude,With ivy twining round its porchAmidst a leafy solitude.
I love the simple village church,
Though framed uncouth, or sculptured rude,
With ivy twining round its porch
Amidst a leafy solitude.
It’s moss-clad stones, the verdure round,The yew tree’s shadow, dim and wan,The wild-flowers o’er each burial moundSeem speaking more of God than man.
It’s moss-clad stones, the verdure round,
The yew tree’s shadow, dim and wan,
The wild-flowers o’er each burial mound
Seem speaking more of God than man.
Unlike the dark sepulchral vault,In towns where corses crowded lie;Such quiet scenes our thoughts exaltFrom death below to life on high.
Unlike the dark sepulchral vault,
In towns where corses crowded lie;
Such quiet scenes our thoughts exalt
From death below to life on high.
The Rustic, pointing to the spot,Says “there my father’s ashes rest;”—Whilst cherished feelings, ne’er forgot,With sacred joy suffuse his breast.
The Rustic, pointing to the spot,
Says “there my father’s ashes rest;”—
Whilst cherished feelings, ne’er forgot,
With sacred joy suffuse his breast.
“Oh! may I live the life he lived,So pious, pure, and free from pride,And when my spirit quits the earthMy bones be buried by his side.
“Oh! may I live the life he lived,
So pious, pure, and free from pride,
And when my spirit quits the earth
My bones be buried by his side.
“I love this ancient village church;Its pathway my forefathers trod,When from their quiet cottage homesThey hither came to worship God.
“I love this ancient village church;
Its pathway my forefathers trod,
When from their quiet cottage homes
They hither came to worship God.
“In infancy they here were brought,And here their vows of love were sealed,And here their ‘earthly house’ was laidWhen death a higher life revealed.”
“In infancy they here were brought,
And here their vows of love were sealed,
And here their ‘earthly house’ was laid
When death a higher life revealed.”