By Canterbury’s hallowed nave, where saints in stone still stand,
And Chartres’ rose of coloured glass once blessed a Christian land,
Now hush the bells, let voices bow, for fear the winds should wail,
That truth once carved in gilded spires must now be draped in veil.
Oh, Cologne’s high vaults once rang bold with monk and martyr’s song,
Yet silence walks its nave today, lest hymns be deemed a wrong.
Where incense curled in holy air and candles bathed the stone,
Now cowed are those who dare to speak, their tongue is not their own.
From Seville’s tower to Notre Dame, the prayers once soared on high,
Yet now the crescent climbs the peaks where once the cross did lie.
And York Minster, with ancient walls that weathered war and time,
Now watches meek as voices fade beneath the law’s new rhyme.
For lo! The scribes in mighty halls, those crowned by trembling quill,
Now hush the crowds, decree the words, command the lips be still.
Not all faiths shall be as one, not all shall kneel the same,
For some may guard their ancient ways, and some must take the blame.
Oh, justice now is but a blade that cuts the truth in twain,
It spares the one who calls offence, but strikes the one in pain.
And so the walls of Christendom, once built with toil and grace,
Are left to dust, while cowards bow and call their chains embrace.
Yet heed ye well, for tides may turn, as tides have turned before,
And spires that fall to hushéd lips shall one day rise once more.
For silence is a fleeting shroud, and time will lift the veil,
And when it does, the bells shall ring, against the winds that wail.
(By John Shenton)