Parkgate near Rotherham
Fact’ries down below, chimneys towering
high,
Clouds of curling smoke, soaring to the sky;
Hills of dark grey
slag, fumes of fire and hell,
Ugliness is rife, rampant vice as
well.
Where is beauty now, since these things came
here?
Where is joy of life in a spot so drear?
Where is God’s own
self in this blackened place?
Has he gone for good? Does he show his
face?
Far above the works and the chimneys tall,
Glow the sunset’s tints, beautifying all.
Purest gliding swans on a
mere below
Pass with stately grace, where the rushes grow.
’Tis a glorious sight in so drab a
part!
Thoughts are stirred in the seeker's heart.
God himself declares,
through these tokens clear;
“I am yet the same! I am even here!”
Stanley Victor Wilman