<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=390649" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Face Of Christ</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It stood alone, this old Church of grey, <br>tombstones scattered around in disarray.<br>Naming Squires and skivvies who’d lived and died<br>in this Hamlet, and now lay side by side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Within, sun shafts sneak between the pews, <br>onto needlepoint hassocks, sewn in blues.<br>And as my feet slowly creep down the aisle, <br>the fair face of Christ on me doth smile.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From a stained glass window, arms raised, to bless<br>those, who find their way to this address.<br>He’s in radiant garments of colours bright<br>looking new and fresh still, in the day’s sunlight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see fading flowers, vases all needing renewal, <br>a rickety boiler, but minus its fuel.<br>Worn Altar cloth, of once Royal hues, <br>and by the door the week’s Parish News.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such silence, all is serene and calm., <br>in this bleak place, and there’s a Psalm<br>Carved out in stone, and in a wall well set, <br>sung often here, accompanied by a soft motet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A Yew tree’s branches hang over iron gates, <br>the roof shows old chipped and mellowed slates, <br>Such sad decay lies all around, and yet<br>the Church lives on through each new sunset.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ernestine+Northover">Ernestine Northover</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=390649" data-title="The Face Of Christ de Ernestine Northover" data-description="It stood alone, this old Church of grey, tombstones scattered around in disarray. Naming Squires and skivvies who’d lived and died in this Hamlet, and now lay side by side. Within, sun shafts sneak between the pews, onto needlepoint hassocks,..."></div> </div> </div>

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