Eleanor Cresset

The road was white, the watch was still,
No foot returned across the hill.
They kept their lanterns through the night,
And vanished with the morning light.

No marble marks the place they lie,
No chapel rises to the sky.
The snow has covered every stone,
And taken all the names we know.

Rest beneath the winter psalms,
Rest beyond the world's alarms.
Though the earth forget the way,
We shall speak your names today.

Let the bell be slowly rung,
Let the final hymn be sung.
For the lost beyond our walls,
Hear us when the evening falls.

Some left a father by the fire,
Some left a child who learned to wait.
Some went to mend a broken tower,
Some never reached the western gate.

The learned write of lands restored,
Of measured roads and guarded fields.
But who shall write the smaller griefs
Of those whose absence never heals?

Rest beneath the winter psalms,
Rest beyond the world's alarms.
Though the earth forget the way,
We shall speak your names today.

Let the bell be slowly rung,
Let the final hymn be sung.
For the lost beyond our walls,
Hear us when the evening falls.

I will not call their dying glorious
To comfort those who sent them forth.
I will not make their silence useful
To the ambitions of the north.

I ask no crown of earthly honour,
No promise purchased by their pain.
Only that we keep their names
When winter comes again.

Rest beneath the winter psalms,
Rest beyond the world's alarms.
Though the earth forget the way,
We shall speak your names today.

Where no lantern yet has burned,
Where no traveller has returned,
May the peace we cannot give
Hold the dead while we yet live.

And when the snow has melted,
We shall remember still.

I knew the words when I was young,
Before the winter touched my hair.
I knew the hymns, the laws, the tongue
In which the saints addressed their prayer.

I knew the proper hour to kneel,
The proper silence after sin.
I knew the iron from the seal,
The stranger from the soul within.

Amen, I said, and closed the book.
Amen, beneath the vaulted stone.
Amen, though heaven gave no sign.
Amen, though doubt was wholly mine.

I stood beside the dying poor;
I blessed the banners of the strong.
I called the faithful through the door
And named the heretic's belief as wrong.

I gave the grieving words of peace
When none were mine to give.
I told the frightened not to fear
And taught the broken how to live.

Lux perpetua.
Dona eis requiem.
But who shall speak for me?

Tonight the lamps are burning low;
The winter holds the eastern nave.
The younger clerics softly go
And leave me longing for the grave.

I do not doubt the words I spoke;
I doubt the heart that spoke them all.
And in the silence after prayer
I hear the smallest sparrow fall.

Amen, I said, and closed the book.
Amen, beneath the vaulted stone.
Amen, before the break of day,
Amen, as certainty gave way.

And if the answer comes at last,
It need not come in thunder then.
Let one small voice break through the night,
And guide my soul towards the light.

Beneath the vault, beneath the bell,
Where winter enters through the wall,
A woman kneels beside the rail,
And does not dare to weep at all.

The candle burns, the pages turn,
The keeper marks another name;
And those who came to beg for mercy
Leave beneath the weight of shame.

Kyrie eleison,
Hear the voices of the lowly.
Christe eleison,
Keep the judgement of the holy.

They speak of justice, measured well,
Of sin that enters through the flesh.
They speak of hearts that must be cleansed,
Of souls delivered from distress.

Yet every stone remembers feet,
And every stair remembers tears.
What hand shall weigh the human heart
Against the burden of its fears?

O mercy, older than the stone,
Come to those who stand alone.
Where the lamps of judgement shine,
Let not every fault be mine.

If the law must have its due,
Let compassion enter too.
For no mortal hand has known
All the sorrows of the soul.

A child is sleeping by the door,
His mother waits beyond the gate.
The bells announce the morning office;
No bell can tell her what to wait.

I know the words, I know the rite,
I know the ancient hymns by heart.
But there are griefs beneath this roof
No earthly music can impart.

O mercy, older than the stone,
Come to those who stand alone.
Where the lamps of judgement shine,
Let not every fault be mine.

If the law must have its due,
Let compassion enter too.
And when the final bells are rung,
Remember those whose songs were unsung.

Christ, who kept the watch while others slumbered,
Christ, who walked the road where none would go,
Thou hast seen our nights, and Thou hast numbered
Every lamp that flickers in the snow.

When the fields lie waste and roads are broken,
When the bell rings out and none reply,
Speak the word that once in light was spoken,
Raise the fallen, bid the darkness fly.

Thou who kept the night, keep us,
Thou who kept the night, keep us,
Till the morning breaks upon the hill —
Lord, Thou keepest still.

Not to us the glory, nor the keeping,
Not our strength that holds the ancient wall;
Thine the hand that guards the city sleeping,
Thine the love that watches over all.

Thou who kept the night, keep us,
Thou who kept the night, keep us,
Till the morning breaks upon the hill —
Lord, Thou keepest still.

Praise the Father, Maker of the morning,
Praise the Son, who kept the night for all,
Praise the Spirit, kindling and adorning
All who wait, and all who hear His call.

Amen. Amen.

The candle does not ask the room for thanks,
It gives its light and spends itself away;
The river does not hold its silver banks,
But runs to feed the meadows on its way.

So I will love you as the candle gives,
And ask no more than that the light be true;
And if I fade, so be it, while it lives —
Let all my burning be for you.

I will not love you for the face you wear,
Nor for the name, nor for the gold you hold,
But for the quiet soul that's sitting there,
That will be young when all the rest is old.

So I will love you as the candle gives,
And ask no more than that the light be true;
And if I fade, so be it, while it lives —
Let all my burning be for you.

And when the years have taken voice and song,
And I can sing no longer in the nave,
I'll love you still, as I have loved you long —
For all I ever had to give, I gave.

So I will love you as the candle gives,
And ask no more than that the light be true;
And if I fade, so be it, while it lives —
Let all my burning be for you.