Horse-drawn over country they arrived, Man with the nation's music in his head, Woman of devotion and discernment, He with sounds angelic and demonic, She, a poet, knowing that her part Had spurred him on already to great heights.
They came where inspiration could be found, Where nature's calming sights would sooth his soul, And help him build his edifice of sound From music that was singing in the trees.
The woods, the birdsong, fields and quiet lanes, The glory of the wide surrounding land, Would give him needed nourishment for labour - Was his music being sung by trees?
During years of steady toil and patience A poet's voice had echoed through his mind, As instrumental sounds and choral colour United in a fire of prayer and praise.
Outpour of melody, harmonies of seraphim, Anguish of a dying man, angel's loving song, Chorus of a golden heavenly host, Trembling glimpse of highest judge and Lord, He brought these visions vividly before us, Ever to illuminate, inspire.
The future brought accomplishment and honour, Then decline, with war and despoilation,. But Birchwood in its gentle pastoral quietness Before the age of clamour and machine, Was home to choral masterwork's creation And means of human glimpse of the divine.
