Children dear, was it yesterday?
Children dear, were we long alone?
“The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.
Long prayers,” I said, “in the world they say.
Come!” I said, and we rose through the surf in the bay.
We went up the beach, by the sandy down
Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walled town.
Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still,
To the little grey church on the windy hill.
From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers,