The tower, the porch, the doorways

Are firm as if they grew.—

The seating is all oaken,

The altar-rails and roof,

The pulpit and the lectern,

The ancient chest of proof.— To east and west the windows Are made of stained glass, And the fabric well is lighted

By hanging lamps of brass.— The chancel end is curtained,

The vestry has a screen;
While on the walls are tablets,

And brasses bright between.-
The font is stonework sturdy,
In keeping with the wall,
And stands beside the entrance,
A pillar quaint and small. -
Near the communion-table

A tiled floor is found,
With two oak chairs reposing
On its mosaic ground.—
Here sacramental Sundays

With love and awe we kneel
Beneath the eastern window,
Whose colours bright reveal

Upon the cross the Saviour,

Two women standing near; While round and o'er them angels On wings of light appear.

St. Hilda and St. Wilfrid

Along the base are seen,
With good St. John enthroned
The central seat between.-
These honour'd are at Whitby,
At York and Beverley,
As pillars of the principles

Of Christianity.

Yon brass and tower window

Of William Abbey tell ;

For forty years as Vicar

He served this parish well,

Till Death the Reaper took him,

Removed him from the scene;

Yet still with many people

His memory is green.

Now notice on the stonework

Those ruddy tints that glow;

Such colours speak of fire

In years long, long ago, Ere this restored building Did upward raise its head,

In other generations,

Gone now, for ever fled ;For on this spot have churches Stood nigh a thousand years, From whence through many changes This present one appears.—

Such is our church at Salton,

For Brawby forms a part ;

We all and each regard it

With honest pride of heart.

For is it not most worthy

To stand among the best
That you will find around us,

If you should seek with zest?
Here reg'lar have I worshipped
For quite a dozen years.—
How short, though full and varied,
Such lapse of time appears!

Here on a Sabbath morning,

Or on a Sunday eve,

Full pleasantly the service

Doth good impressions leave.

And often, too, the fabric

Gives meditations sweet,

Which chant, and psalm, and sermon

With blessing doth complete.

Then, too, it is a pleasure

To meet each holy day
Our brethren altogether,

And kindness to display ;

To join in hymn and prayer,—

To sweet thanksgiving raise,-
And, thus united, share

Our duty and our praise.-
Small wonder then we love it,

Amid its hallow'd ground!
Where many friends are sleeping
Their last long sleep profound;
Where we perchance may join them,
And as in days of yore,

Awake with them together,

When time shall be no more.—

Then in that other country,

One endless Sabbath day,

Shall be the sweet fruition,

Of these that pass away.

Composed at Brawby Lodge, December 28, 1896, to January 5, 1897.

THE APPLE.

I SING of the apple,
Ripe, rosy, and red,

That brightens the orchard
When summer has sped!

How sweet is its fragrance!
How pretty its form!
How lovely the branches
Its clusters adorn!

From the time of its birth,

To the close of the year, Bud, blossom and fruit,

All glorious appear,

Delighting the vision

Of childhood and age;·

A song for the poet !

A theme for the sage!

Its juices most pleasant

In cider are found

A drink of our nation,

Through all the year round!