Chingford Church
I gaze on thee, thou venerable pile!
Clad in thy ivy-suit, and think the while
How many a summer's sun, or winter's storm,
Assailed or smiled on thy unshrinking form,
Ere thy green friend, with wide and cordial arms,
Came to support and shield thee from all harms.
Now of thy furrowed brow no trace is seen,
For thy bright bulwark of eternal green,
Which, with its ever true and guardian leaves,
An undecaying bower of beauty weaves.
How like some ancient man grown grey 'mid years
Of sunny pleasures or of wintry tears,
Who views, to grace and guard his life's decline,
Around his house a beauteous offspring twine,
And hears their words of love, and sees their bright eyes shine.
Ye who survey this hoary edifice —
Dear friends! to whom I owe this moment's bliss,
Ye lend the living charm that makes so dear
The scene of beauty which I gaze on here.
Long as I tread life's ever changing way,
Endeared will be the memory of to-day;
And though, as heretofore, it be my lot,
To meet with sorrows ne'er to be forgot,
Hence will I snatch one gleam of perfect joy,
Which shall illume the breast those cares annoy.
In pleasures past a potent magic lies,
Can glad our hearts, and bid our eager eyes
Ken bliss for aye renewed that never fails or dies!
Chingford! another look ere we depart —
How rich in real loveliness thou art!
Enduring charms that win each gentle heart
About thee linger ever, and excite
Delusive dreams arrayed in magic light.
And here, no more by worldly wrong opprest,
Here might the 'rapt enthusiast find that rest,
Which the world in its coldness and its pride,
Had rendered dear — but had till now denied.
By nature in her kindest moods caressed,
Enjoying scenes that soothe the woe-worn breast,
Jostled no longer by conflicting cares,
Ease, health, and peace, the blessed boons he shares.
" Now, " he exclaims, " Earth's phantoms I forego,
" Now bid a last farewell to all its woe;
" In pensive quiet here I end my days,
" Nor list to censure, nor encounter praise,
" Grateful for gentle joys that here are mine,
" Sure of a lovely grave when I those joys resign. "
Clad in thy ivy-suit, and think the while
How many a summer's sun, or winter's storm,
Assailed or smiled on thy unshrinking form,
Ere thy green friend, with wide and cordial arms,
Came to support and shield thee from all harms.
Now of thy furrowed brow no trace is seen,
For thy bright bulwark of eternal green,
Which, with its ever true and guardian leaves,
An undecaying bower of beauty weaves.
How like some ancient man grown grey 'mid years
Of sunny pleasures or of wintry tears,
Who views, to grace and guard his life's decline,
Around his house a beauteous offspring twine,
And hears their words of love, and sees their bright eyes shine.
Ye who survey this hoary edifice —
Dear friends! to whom I owe this moment's bliss,
Ye lend the living charm that makes so dear
The scene of beauty which I gaze on here.
Long as I tread life's ever changing way,
Endeared will be the memory of to-day;
And though, as heretofore, it be my lot,
To meet with sorrows ne'er to be forgot,
Hence will I snatch one gleam of perfect joy,
Which shall illume the breast those cares annoy.
In pleasures past a potent magic lies,
Can glad our hearts, and bid our eager eyes
Ken bliss for aye renewed that never fails or dies!
Chingford! another look ere we depart —
How rich in real loveliness thou art!
Enduring charms that win each gentle heart
About thee linger ever, and excite
Delusive dreams arrayed in magic light.
And here, no more by worldly wrong opprest,
Here might the 'rapt enthusiast find that rest,
Which the world in its coldness and its pride,
Had rendered dear — but had till now denied.
By nature in her kindest moods caressed,
Enjoying scenes that soothe the woe-worn breast,
Jostled no longer by conflicting cares,
Ease, health, and peace, the blessed boons he shares.
" Now, " he exclaims, " Earth's phantoms I forego,
" Now bid a last farewell to all its woe;
" In pensive quiet here I end my days,
" Nor list to censure, nor encounter praise,
" Grateful for gentle joys that here are mine,
" Sure of a lovely grave when I those joys resign. "
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