Thursday, June 20, 2013

On the Demise of St John's Church, Runcorn


On the Demise of St John’s, Runcorn
Here, in the sepulchred silence of the dying day,
A hundred years of passing saints have trod;
Some walking proud, some falling on their knees,
But all of them to spend some time with God.
Here, amidst the glory of pitch-pine and lofty height,
They worshipped in the morning and the night.
Where, Sunday by Sunday,
The people prayed,
And the organ played;
Where hymns were sung in unison,
Supported by the choir in their stalls
But that’s not all.
Out on the Bowling Green
Where once at Summer Fete
The woods were seen,
It’s now a JCB that tears the soil.
Roses, daffodils, forget-me-not,
Have all fallen to the metal scoop
And lie discarded in a dying heap.
Yet I recall, and not so long ago,
The times I stood in crow-black gown,
And looking down
Upon those worshippers who congregated there,
In pew after pew, where saints have sat and sin has trod,
I shared the Word of God.
© 2013 Colin Gordon-Farleigh




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