The Levelled Churchyard
“O passenger, pray list and catchOur sighs and piteous groans,Half stifled in this jumbled patchOf wrenched memorial stones!
“We late-lamented, resting here,Are mixed to human jam,And each to each exclaims in fear,‘I know not which I am!’
“The wicked people have annexedThe verses on the good;A roaring drunkard sports the textTeetotal Tommy should!
“Where we are huddled none can trace,And if our names remain,They pave some path or p-ing placeWhere we have never lain!
“There’s not a modest maiden elfBut dreads the final Trumpet,Lest half of her should rise herself,And half some local strumpet!
“From restorations of Thy fane,From smoothings of Thy sward,From zealous Churchmen’s pick and planeDeliver us O Lord! Amen!”
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