WESTMINSTER ABBEY by SAMUEL FERGUSON

ON HEARING WEEK-DAY SERVICE THERE, SEPTEMBER, 1858.

From England's gilded halls of state
I cross'd the Western Minster's gate.
And, 'mid the tombs of England's dead,
I heard the Holy Scriptures read.

The walls around and pillar' d piers
Had stood well-nigh seven hundred years;
The words the priest gave forth had stood
Since Christ, and since before the Flood.

A thousand hearts around partook
The comfort of the Holy Book;
Ten thousand suppliant hands were spread
In lifted stone above my head

In dust decay'd the hands are gone
That fed and set the builders on;
In heedless dust the fingers lie
That hew'd and heav'd the stones on high;

And back to earth and air resolv'd
The brain that plann'd and pois'd the vault
But undecay'd, erect, and fair,
To heaven ascends the builded Prayer,

With majesty of strength and size,
With glory of harmonious dyes,
With holy airs of heavenward thought
From floor to roof divinely fraught.

Fall down, ye bars: enlarge, my soul!
To heart's content take in the whole;
And, spurning pride's injurious thrall.
With loyal love embrace them all!

Yet hold not lightly home; nor yet
The graves on Dunagore forget;
Nor grudge the stone-gilt stall to change
For humble bench of Gorman's Grange.

The self-same Word bestows its cheer
On simple creatures there as here;
And thence, as hence, poor souls do rise
In social flight to common skies.

For in the Presence vast and good,
That bends o'er all our livelihood,
With humankind in heavenly cure.
We all are like, we all are poor.

His poor, be sure, shall never want
For service meet or seemly chant,
And for the Gospel's joyful sound
A fitting place shall still be found;

Whether the organ's solemn tones
Thrill through the dust of warriors' bones,
Or voices of the village choir
From swallow-haunted eaves aspire,

Or, sped with healing on its wings,
The Word solicit ears of kings.
Or stir the souls, in moorland glen,
Of kingless covenanted men.

Enough for thee, indulgent Lord,
The willing ear to hear Thy Word, -
The rising of the burthen'd breast -
And thou suppliest all the rest.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!

Other Poems of Interest...