Charles Kingsley (Чарльз Кингсли)

The Dead Church

Wild wild wind, wilt thou never cease thy sighing?
Dark dark night, wilt thou never wear away?
Cold cold church, in thy death sleep lying,
The Lent is past, thy Passion here, but not thine Easter-day.

Peace, faint heart, though the night be dark and sighing;
Rest, fair corpse, where thy Lord himself hath lain.
Weep, dear Lord, above thy bride low lying;
Thy tears shall wake her frozen limbs to life and health again.

1. Down to the Mothers
2. The Poetry of a Root Crop
3. The Weird Lady
4. A Hope
5. Ode on the Istallation of the Duke of Devonshire

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