Church bells ring,
calling the faithful to worship.
The few respond,
dragging tardy feet over hallowed ground.
Candles gutter, signalling life and hope.
The remnant kneel in prayer,
lukewarm of faith and unwilling in love.
High in the uncertain firmament
trumpets blast out their joyous triumph
flambeaux proclaim their fearsome testament
crownèd martyrs sing a noble hymn
albed confessors raise their prayerful hands
rank on rank of angels gleefully cavort
whirling before the Throne as fiery wheels.
The Church’s incense rises doubtfully;
blown aside by dissent and worldly affair.
Hardly a hint reaches the court above,
Hardly a sound of muttered prayer,
Hardly a rumour of half-hearted love.