Seveny Young Spreading yews in a Churchyard Roadfront Hedge.
Quaint, faithful pickets, spent and gray,
Are laid in memory away;
While, fresh in vigil o'er the scene,
Low spreading yews stand ever green.
This verdant border, trim and straight
In lieu of outworn fence and gate,
Rules nothing out save willful sin,
And only God's good will within.
Yet inward here the people throng
To find surcease from strife and wrong,
And with them as they out go
The peace and power of God o'erflow.
Some wistful wind may whisper through some bending,
Swaying little yew a special.
Sweet memorial song to
Someone in the passing throng.
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