Palid and cold as the morning star, On the hill the old church stands; A landmark tall, it is seen afar In the circumjacent lands. With cloud or with sunshine overhead, With bloom and decay below; Guiding the living, guarding the dead, It watches the century go. Here, long ago, the savage stood, With be-scarred and painted breast; And here, by the never resting flood, He lies in unbroken rest. The conquering pale-face too is here, They slumber not far apart;— God's children and Nature's—both lie near To His and to Nature's heart. We read on the fading marble page, Such names as we speak to-day; But He reads names of a race and age Whose language has passed away. They reared no fane for their praise and prayers, Nor pondered ponderous tome; They worshipped their fathers' God and theirs Beneath Heavens' ampler dome. Let priests in their old cathedrals lie, And the kings their abbeys fill; But these sleep well 'neath the older sky, On the windy, Indian hill. Farewell old church! I'll remember thee On thy breezy swell of graves, As a Pharos, lighting life's dark sea, And taming its raging waves. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 1. THE BRIGHT MOON by CONRAD AIKEN MUSIC by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET |