1.

Thou for many years hast stood,

Overlooking field and wood;

From thy top the village green

And the distant sea are seen.

2.

From thee also may be viewed

Widemouth beach and town of Bude,

And thro’ the drear waste of night

Can be seen the Lundy light.

3.

From thy belfry rings the call,

“Come to Church, ye people all,”

And the same bell’s mournful toll

To the graves doth summon all.

4.

Unchanged, thro many changes, thou

Art scarce the worse for age e’en now.

On thy walls so strong and gray,

The force of storms is thrown away.

5.

Long ago was thy foundation,

Laid ‘midst general exultation.

But the men who work’d that day,

Centuries since, have turned to clay.

6.

Would that on thee were conferred

Power to tell what thou hast heard,

Things that men have said and done

In the days long past and gone.

7.

Strange the stories thou could’st tell

Of those who in the village dwell.

Queer indeed would be the history,

Revealing much that’s now a mystery.

8.

Thro’ the day dost thou look down

On the busy little town,

And at night strict watch doth keep,

While the foil-worn peasants sleep.

9.

Since on the thee sun first shined

Mary Week has much declined,

Men have fled and trade has waned,

Markets stopped and pockets drained.

10.

Since, on Greenmore’s grass and heather,

Bonaventure strolled at leisure,

Funerals many hast thou seen

Winding o’er the churchyard green.

11.

There, beneath thy shadow, rest

Rich and poor, whom none molest;

Deaf to all that men may say,

Sleeping till the judgement day

12.

Then from calm and lengthened sleep

Some shall wake no more to weep;

Some with terror and dismay

Will the trumpet’s sound obey.

13.

Scoffers then will cowards turn,

Sinful people all shall mourn

But the true and upright man

Shall be set at God’s right hand.

14.

Adieu, old Tower, tall and strong;

My stay at Week will not be long;

Like thee may I e’er be straight,

And in every act upright.

T. C. JACOB

Week St. Mary 1879