"And verses, too, and mottoes,
Words ta'en from Holy Writ,
And some designs which mock the pen,
We'll call them nondescript.
"But all are glad and happy
Who in the pageant share,
And the urchins with the nondescripts
Are proud as any there.
"And proudly struts each youngster,
When, devices gay in hand,
They round about the village march
To the music of the band.
"Like to a string of rainbows
Appears that cortege bright,
Winding 'mong the crooked lanes
In the golden evening light!
"And coming to the church again
They bear their garlands in,
They fix them round the time-stained fane
While the bells make merry din.
"But hark! before departing
From that house of prayer,
The incense of a grateful hymn
Floats on the quiet air."
The older hymn of St. Oswald—
"They won us peace, Thy saints, O Lord,
Even though, like royal David, they
Smiting and smitten with the sword
Toiled through their mortal day"—
is now followed by a hymn from the pen of Canon Rawnsley, whose genial notice, as he passed this August along the churchyard wall of bearings, brought a happy flush to one child-face after another:
"The Rotha streams, the roses blow,
Though generations pass away,
And still our old traditions flow
From pagan past and Roman day.