St., Peter’s stands,
Full of centuried age,
In the midst of dreaming acres.
Surrounding the ancient stones,
Under green banks, are the remains
Of an even earlier occupation.
Othona’s Roman fort, guarding
The Saxon shore faced the same rushing waves.
The same salt-laden gales
Which sang their wild song
Chill the ears of pilgrims
Of the present day as they tread
The path to antiquity and
The time-worn stones of sanctity.
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