O English hearts, what heart can know
how spent with labours long ago
was England's Church that bore you?
The Paths you tread in lane or street,
long since were trodden
by the feet
of saints that went before you.
When priests like sudden angels came
to light
in distant shires the flame
that faith's dull embers cherished,
when Mass and shrift were sought
for still
in silent farm, on lonely hill,
ere ancient memories perished.
R. A. Knox
