Stoke Pogis Churchyarddetails

THE moon is up! how calm and slow

She wheels above the hill!

The weary winds forget to blow,

And all the world lies still.

The way-worn travellers with delight

The rising brightness see,

Revealing all the paths and plains,

And gilding every tree.

It glistens where the hurrying stream

Its little rippling heaves;

It falls upon the forest shade,

And sparkles on the leaves.

So once on Judah’s evening hills

The heavenly lustre spread;

The Gospel sounded from the blaze,

And shepherds gazed with dread.

And still that light upon the world

Its guiding splendor throws;

Bright in the opening hours of life,

But brighter at the close.

The waning moon in time shall fail

To walk the midnight skies;

But God hath kindled this bright light

With fire that never dies.