A Church in North Wales

Blessings be round it still! that gleaming fane,
Low in its mountain-glen! Old, mossy trees
Mellow the sunshine through the untinted pane;
And oft, borne in upon some fitful breeze,
The deep sound of the ever-pealing seas,
Filling the hollows with its anthem-tone,
There meets the voice of psalms! Yet not alone
For memories lulling to the heart as these,
I bless thee, midst thy rocks, gray house of prayer!
But for their sakes who unto thee repair
From the hill-cabins and the ocean-shore.
Oh! may the fisher and the mountaineer
Words to sustain earth’s toiling children hear,
Within thy lowly walls, for evermore!