It overlooks the restful sea,
A graveyard, lying in quiet repose
Beneath a ruined church's spires,
Its roof consumed, its timber waning.

No footsteps mar the gravelled path
Where once the reverend Friar would tread.
He, like the timber, turned to dust,
Beneath the grassy stone reclining.

Did once a bell toll o'er the hill,
To call from villages round about
The Godly throng, in worship gathered,
To fill with prayer their hearts rejoicing?

Their voices, raised in true devotion
Live on in crumbling walls of stone,
Impregnate the abandoned altar.
Since then, time has been ever slowing.

Changing less with every year
Until those years had ceased to pass.
Now silence dwells between the tombstones
An ivy blanket alone still living.

And so the churchyard stands forever,
Watched only by the dreaming sun
Until night's satin blanker falls.
Then, once more the measured treading

Of the Friar's anointed feet
As he passes once more through the ruins,
Though now his footfalls leave no mark
Upon the path that he is walking.

No one perceives his gentle step
And o'er the sea a new sun rises.
The phantom fades, in farewell gives
To those that lie here, silent blessing.