What an image of peace and rest <br />Is this little church among its graves! <br />All is so quiet; the troubled breast, <br />The wounded spirit, the heart oppressed, <br />Here may find the repose it craves. <br /> <br />See, how the ivy climbs and expands <br />Over this humble hermitage, <br />And seems to caress with its little hands <br />The rough, gray stones, as a child that stands <br />Caressing the wrinkled cheeks of age! <br /> <br />You cross the threshold; and dim and small <br />Is the space that serves for the Shepherd's Fold; <br />The narrow aisle, the bare, white wall, <br />The pews, and the pulpit quaint and tall, <br />Whisper and say: 'Alas! we are old.' <br /> <br />Herbert's chapel at Bemerton <br />Hardly more spacious is than this; <br />But poet and pastor, blent in one, <br />Clothed with a splendor, as of the sun, <br />That lowly and holy edifice. <br /> <br />It is not the wall of stone without <br />That makes the building small or great, <br />But the soul's light shining round about, <br />And the faith that overcometh doubt, <br />And the love that stronger is than hate. <br /> <br />Were I a pilgrim in search of peace, <br />Were I a pastor of Holy Church, <br />More than a Bishop's diocese <br />Should I prize this place of rest and release <br />From further longing and further search. <br /> <br />Here would I stay, and let the world <br />With its distant thunder roar and roll; <br />Storms do not rend the sail that is furled; <br />Nor like a dead leaf, tossed and whirled <br />In an eddy of wind, is the anchored soul.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ultima-thule-old-st-david-s-at-radnor/
