within - without       in an old Cornish Church

 
Within...

Skylit tints and jewel colours glow in the holy air,
The candle’s smoke ascending like a prayer,
and then drifts, drifts along like time itself.
The pillars, though seeming dumb, fling the roof’s bow high,
holding there in trust the praise of a myriad voices.
And as your faithful feet have brought you here,
then wonder if you will
at the works of these old men, their craft in glass and lead;
and marvel then that though long dead,
their divine inspiration is so alive today.
And see and know that masons, their names unknown
or long forgot
so that they a memorial seemingly have not,
have from the bulk of earth-bound bleak boulder these columns carved.
Amidst these marvels, the Choir in sweet service
splits the sere silver silence of spring morn, so that even
the Cherubic Host may pause to lend an ear!
So see and hear as all around you calls to you, and what is
within you now.

Without...

As you leave, what can you do but look back, and if it be at dusk, the lamplight through the
panes the story same reveals - yet not: for now the time is to reflect on those calm cloisters, the glorious organ’s sound
in the soft religious light, so the more you wonder may, yet know
that this, all this must preservèd be, for God’s greater glory,
and for your delectation now,
and for all those who follow many generations hence:
your duty, after all.