Ultima Thule/Old St. David's at Radnor
OLD ST. DAVID'S AT RADNOR.
What an image of peace and restIs this little church among its graves!All is so quiet; the troubled breast,The wounded spirit, the heart oppressed,Here may find the repose it craves.
See, how the ivy climbs and expandsOver this humble hermitage,And seems to caress with its little handsThe rough, gray stones, as a child that standsCaressing the wrinkled cheeks of age!
You cross the threshold; and dim and smallIs the space that serves for the Shepherd's Fold;The narrow aisle, the bare, white wall, The pews, and the pulpit quaint and tall,Whisper and say: "Alas! we are old."
Herbert's chapel at BemertonHardly more spacious is than this;But Poet and Pastor, blent in one,Clothed with a splendor, as of the sun,That lowly and holy edifice.
It is not the wall of stone withoutThat makes the building small or great,But the soul's light shining round about,And the faith that overcometh doubt,And the love that stronger is than hate.
Were I a pilgrim in search of peace,Were I a pastor of Holy Church,More than a Bishop's dioceseShould I prize this place of rest, and releaseFrom farther longing and farther search.
Here would I stay, and let the worldWith its distant thunder roar and roll;Storms do not rend the sail that is furled;Nor like a dead leaf, tossed and whirledIn an eddy of wind, is the anchored soul.