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



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