Now If The Harvest Is Over, And

And I Think It Was The Outline Of That Church Tower At Belaugh Against The Sky Which Gave Me A Passion For Churches So That Every Church I've Past Since I've Wanted To Stop And Look In.

And London Shops On Christmas Eve Are Strung With Silver Bells And Flowers As Hurrying Clerks The City Leave To Pigeon-haunted Classic Towers, And Marbled Clouds Go Scudding By The Many-steepled London Sky

Now If The Harvest Is Over, And The World Cold, Give Me The Bonus Of Laughter, As I Lose Hold.

Hymns Are The Poetry Of The People.

Hymn Tunes Are The Nearest We've Got To English Folk Music.