Classic Poem

XV. — A CHURCH IN NORTH WALES .

Blessings be round it still! that gleaming fane,
Low in its mountain glen! old mossy trees
Mellow the sunshine through the untinted pane,
And oft, borne in upon some fitful breeze,
The deep sound of the ever-pealing seas,
Filling the hollows with its anthem-tone,
There meets the voice of psalms! — yet not alone
For memories lulling to the heart as these,
I bless thee, 'midst thy rocks, grey house of prayer!
But for their sakes who unto thee repair
From the hill-cabins and the ocean shore.
Oh! may the fisher and the mountaineer,
Words to sustain earth's toiling children hear,
Within thy lowly walls for evermore!