Poems (David)/St. Mary the Virgin

by Edith Mary David

ST. MARY-THE-VIRGIN.

HIGH in great grandeur to the Autumn sky,
Saint Mary's noble steeple rises high,
O'er its gold vane, the morning sun's strong ray,
With many a bright gleam, doth dance and play;
Statues and pinnacles in high relief appear,
O'er every nich the gladdening beams do cheer;
Beneath thy sunny porch, again I stand,
As the old door yields beneath the hand,—
The long vistas of each grand old aisle,
On the eager gaze invitingly smile!
The sun a thousand fading rays hath thrown,
In rich profusion, o'er the grey old stone,—
On boss and corble, pulpit too, and floor,
Its glorious beams, so cheerfully scatter'd o'er.
Yet, how many a fitful changing scene
Within thy ancient walls hath too oft been?
Oh! hath not persecution's name
Linked with thine own its saddening awful fame?
Our much loved primate^a was hurried from thy gate,
'Neath Balliol's walls to meet a martyr's fate;
May Rome no more in thee assert her sway,
And with an iron hand exclude the day.
Let glorious truth with undimm'd radiance shine,
Spreading her spotless wings o'er every clime.