Mike Smith (Rev), Huddersfield
I’ve only three score years and ten
A passing visitor on earth, and then…
Dawridings was the chapel’s place
So called in eigtheen-thirty five The year of grace.
In summer time upon the hill
Guthlac would bring his herds And still…
High on the hill, hidden in haze
Queen Cartimandua’s passion burned Into a blaze.
The Stone-Age hunter dropped the blade
That was his little knife, of flint it’s made…
Two-eighty million years away the horse-tails grew so high
And still grow in the cut today.
We are but a passing dream of night.
God is the everlasting and eternal light.