The Church stands upon the hill,
Where it was meant to be;
Uplifted to the heavens above,
For you and me to see.
As I strolled up the avenue,
To that warm inviting door;
The distant near forgotten past
Stirred within my core.
Of times when I was led there,
By my mother’s hand;
Me wide eyed in wonderment,
Bells pealing across the land.
Reflecting round about me,
On that springtime day;
I viewed the gnarled twisted trees,
On which I used to play.
The lantern placed within the porch,
To shine forth in the night;
Guiding the faithful to the door,
Like a diamond shining bright.
Oh, sanctity of wood and stone,
Outlasting those in your shadow here;
‘Twas to you that they came in hope,
To worship Christ and Apostles dear.
Monty Alexander 13.4.97