It stood there proudly on a hill,
In fact it's there enduring still,
But now this revered Welsh construction
Is heading for final sad destruction. Many years ago - I've heard it said,
This fine old church with fervent praise was led,
Spontaneous singing with a gladsome sound,
Prayers and thanksgiving did all round abound. All this has gone - it's sad to have to say,
A heavy silence - empty - now holds sway,
Neglected, lonely, stands this once pround church,
And no-one really seems to care that much. Oak pews are dull, lacking shine and care,
Cobwebs hang in nooks and crannies there,
Books have long been stacked away in racks,
A bloom of mould has settled on their backs. Roof tiles are cracked, the lead's begun to perish,
Tarnished brasses that they used to cherish,
Rain seeps down through cracks and holes in gutter,
Leaving such a devastation utter. Grime streaks the stone walls, windows are cracking,
The paintwork is peeling, putty is lacking,
The grass and the weeds are 3 feet high,
Sadly, the end of the church is nigh. The winding path. once trim, but steep to climb,
Now gravel choked with moss and coated slime,
No eager feet step forwards to the door,
Its rusty hinges closed for evermore,
At Pont-Rhyd-Y-Groes. It stood there proudly on a hill,
In fact it's there enduring still,
But now this revered Welsh construction
Is heading for final sad destruction. Many years ago - I' ve heard it said,
This fine old church with fervent praise was led,
Spontaneous singing with a gladsome sound,
Prayers and thanksgiving did all round abound. All this has gone - it's sad to have to say,
A heavy silence - empty - now holds sway,
Neglected, lonely, stands this once pround church,
And no-one really seems to care that much. Oak pews are dull, lacking shine and care,
Cobwebs hang in nooks and crannies there,
Books have long been stacked away in racks,
A bloom of mould has settled on their backs. Roof tiles are cracked, the lead's begun to perish,
Tarnished brasses that they used to cherish,
Rain seeps down through cracks and holes in gutter,
Leaving such a devastation utter. Grime streaks the stone walls, windows are cracking,
The paintwork is peeling, putty is lacking,
The grass and the weeds are 3 feet high,
Sadly, the end of the church is nigh. The winding path. once trim, but steep to climb,
Now gravel choked with moss and coated slime,
No eager feet step forwards to the door,
Its rusty hinges closed for evermore,
At Pont-Rhyd-Y-Groes. |
