The O'Connor Church Poem by Jesse Fast

We crested a hill in the midlands,
There, rising above the woodlands,
A steeple of yore majestically rose.
Statute and still; only peace it knows.

Oh the history flooded my being!
My gaze was set and all seeing.
The graceful cornice unbroken,
Told of life and time left unspoken.

Through the peaceful valley we went,
Yet my eyes on the steeple were bent.
A feeling of wonder flowed in my soul,
A mystical presence embodied the whole.

At last we came to the Chapel Hill,
The O’Connor Church, statute and still.
Like a sentry ready to face the foe,
It stands; guarding the valley below.

Though neglected it tells of past glory,
Each crack could tell quite a story.
A graveyard lay on the opposite rise,
An ancient place of forgotten lives.

We entered through a creaking door,
A sacred place, many years before.
A scent of the past met eager faces,
Our voices echoed in empty spaces.

The sun shone through the stained glass,
Old wooden benches told of times past.
Graceful arches and intricate designs,
Told of skill and design from bygone times.

I thought of the past and days gone by,
How surely the years do ever fly!
I thought of the ones who worshiped,
How they laughed, talked, and gossiped.

I imagined benches full of people,
I thought of the bell in the steeple.
Who rang the bell on a Sunday morn?
Who climbed those stairs, old and worn?

Our voices rang and echoed on,
Harmony blended and came to be one.
Songs where sung; how that church rang!
The beauty of music awoke as we sang!

We left that church as darkness drew nigh,
The last rays of the sun lit up the sky.
We left that cathedral there on the hill,
And now it yet stands; quiet and still…