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Christmas at the hall

Chapter 49: The Village Church.
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About This Book

This collection presents a sequence of poems built around a framing Christmas family gathering that links diverse shorter pieces; it moves between domestic sketches, seasonal and religious meditations, elegies and occasional tributes. Maritime landscapes and coastal scenes appear alongside reflective night musings, sonnets and ballads, while personal aspiration toward the poetic calling recurs in a few direct addresses. The verse varies in metre and tone, alternating descriptive natural imagery, moral and devotional reflection, and narrative fragments, producing an earnest, uneven but sincere portrait of a nineteenth-century poet testing his powers across themes of home, nature, loss, and hope.

The Village Church.

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 mound
Seem speaking more of God than man.
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.
“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 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 laid
When death a higher life revealed.”