By a Country Church

Spring, and all its morning sounding
Guide me up a rocky path;
At an angle, streaming downward
Is a sort of sunlight bath

And the voices singing, singing
In the empty church I hear;
Songs of sorrow and of triumph
Memorized of yesteryear

Shadows, gentle on the hillside,
Past the cemetery plots,
Rows of flowers, shorn, haphazard,
A few thorns in empty spots

Spring, and hope: poetic fancy,
Written often, seldom read --
But there is no hope like finding
Hope and joy among the dead

Tell me, have you heard it lately?
I have, and I've come to tell
Though we all walk different pathways
I hope you and yours are well

In this gathering, this lifetime.
Light and darkness felt, and shared,
Know that someone loves you ever,
Someone's always, always


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