York Minster.

Just so it looked, you know,1
When we, how many years ago?2
Looked from the bridge across the Ouse in a red
sunset’s glow,
And saw against the sky,4
Over the quaint old city, towering high,5
The Minster, in its grey, grave grace of ancient
Slow-rolling at our feet,7
Flowed the broad stream the ocean’s kiss to meet,8
Behind us rose the hum and stir, borne from each
busy street,
The stream whose current bore10
The conquering Viking and his bands to shore ;11
Where Koman galleys lay at ease, in the fierce times
of yore ;
That in the later days13
Saw the twin roses rival banners raise,14
When rival factions closed in strife, in all York’s
winding ways ;
That heard the joyous shout,16
When glad and gay the Cavaliers rode out ;17
That flowed, all bloodstained ’neath the walls, from
Marston’s fatal rout.
While, changeless through it all,19
Watching o’er Fort, and Bar, and guarded Wall,20
The Minster, as God’s witness stood, solemn, and
grand, and tall.
Lingering at autumn eves,22
Hearing the west wind as it sobs and grieves,23
While slowly heaping at our feet, drifted the falling
We live our lives again,25
The hopes and fears, the gladness and the pain,26
The joys that woke, and laughed, and died, the
sweet dreams dreamt in vain.
Living through old, dead times,28
Till through the branches of the yellowing limes,29
Clashing through the still, brooding air, we hear
the Minster chimes ;
And, with our heavy load,31
Following the paths so many feet have trod,32
Seek the wide doors that, for our North, guard our
grand House of God.