John Betjeman


    But still the church of God
He stood in his conventicle
    And ruled it with a rod.

    The walls around him rose,
The lamps within their brackets shook
    To hear the hymns he chose.

“Glory” “Gopsal” “Russell Place”
    “Wrestling Jacob” “Rock”
“Saffron Walden” “Safe at Home”
    “Dorking” “Plymouth Dock”

I slipped about the chalky lane
    That runs without the park,
I saw the lone conventicle
    A beacon in the dark.

Revival ran along the hedge
    And made my spirit whole
When steam was on the window panes
    And glory in my soul.