The Old Parish Church, Whitby

We climb'd the steep where headless Edwin lies —
The king who struck for Christ, and striking fell;
Beyond the harbour, toll'd the beacon bell;
Saint Mary's peal sent down her glad replies;
So entered we the Church: white galleries,
Cross-stanchions, frequent stairs, dissembled well
A ship's mid-hold, — we almost felt the swell
Beneath, and caught o'erhead the sailors' cries.

But as we heard the congregational sound,
And reasonable voice of common prayer
And common praise, new wind was in our sails —
Heart called to heart, beyond the horizon's bound
With Christ we steer'd, through angel-haunted ail,
A ship that meets all storms, rides out all gales.