All Saints' steeple
It is there again
When I open the curtains in the morning;
Back from the darkness
In which it has spent the night.
It is not old as earth is old –
A mere century and a half, almost –
But rooted in its patch of ground,
Symbolic of indestructibility,
It reflects the changing light
Of sun and cloud invested sky.
Its poised splendour
Offers the enquiring eye
A hint of the infinite.
While in the voices of pealing bells
Messages joyful fill the surrounding air.
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