Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1895-03-12
THE OLD CHURCH ON THE HILL


Winning the dawning smiles Of the sun
And it, lingering kiss when the day Is done,
From all approaches, beacon seen,
Piercing the blue above the green,
o'erlooking the scene, betting crown
OF the landscape fair and the beautiful town.
The pride OF our fathers toll and skill
The old white chapel that stands on the hill
Long ago it, corner stones were laid
And its framework fashioned. massive anu staid
IT. builders were men OF the good old type
Who delayed not the reaping when harvests
were ripe.
Poor In purse, but rich In that zeal
That turns the spokcs Of ARRANGEMENTS wheel
sturdy Of purpose and dauntless OF will
For the old white chapel that stands on the hill
We see them again rs In bygone days,
To the house OF worship vending their ways,
ON n sabbath morn In the summers calm.
From the crossrosd home and the hillside farm
The old and the young In their best attire
With the alround merchant ana village squire
TIL the high. backed pews they sedately I'LL
In the old white chapel that stands on the hill.
Then the old. ia shionei preacher with gesture
and voice
Impressive, announces the text Of his choice,
With precision his scriptura lines are cast
From firstly up to s!xteenthly and last;
With smiling blow, that each dogma rounds,
Inc quaint oil putplt OH ItsouHts,
As he turns tho crank OF his doctrinal mill
In the old white chapel that stands on the hill.
Up there In the circular gallery seats
His singers the gray haired choristeE greets,
With his tuning fork he pitches the key
OF Coronation or old Dundee,
And they all unite In sweet acclaim:
IAN hail the great lmmanucPs name,
TIL all hearts with the stirring melody thrill,
In the old white chapel that stands on the hill
But their voices are hushed, here they come no
more,
No football sounds on the dust, laden floor;
There are wreaths on the walls. but the hands
that pressed
Them In place are folded forever at rest.
And they seem to say. with smile that Is wan |;
"They were here-they were here-they are
gone-they are gone"
And the light has grown dim, and the air Is chill
In the old white chapel that stands on the hill.
Tbus deserted and silent the old house stands,
A prey Of decay and OF vandal hands.
it, brave old tower that so long has stood fast
In the wrack Of storm and the iightning's blast.
Looks down with reproach through the autumn
rains,
And winter steals In through the broken panes,
Making ghostly shrouds and wailings shrfll
In the Old white chapel that stands on the hill.
Memor,es Of childhood come back anew,
"A the scene from the old bell deck we view,
With its circling mountains Of youths renown,
And the vale with rs river winding down;
Just the same now the hills their watches keep
Der the still white plain where the fathers sleep.
With its greenwood belt and low-voiced rtll
Near the old white chapel that stands on the hill
But, 10, now change In the old house appears;
For the sons. whom IL sheltered In boyhood
years.
Their bounty extend to restore and protect
At the silent appeal Of its long neglect;
It's spire beams afrcsh, and lie vane, long awry,
Now flashes anew In the dome Of the sky
Gladly the donors their pledges fulnll
For the old white chapel that stands on the hill.
And the autumn has crowned memorial year
For the storied past that IL cloistered here,
For it, spirit that weaveth lie warp unseen
With gold, for the wool Of our yule-tide green;
And the spell Of the weaving our children VIII
learn,
Az of 20 their native vale they return;
And the years will be laden with reverence still
FOR The old white chapel that standa on the hill.
II kLYR1D CoLR, IN Portland Trsnscsips.