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The Rock of Saint Peter

Hallowed spires, stretching like fingers, longingly towards the heavens,

Permanently mark Saint Peter's rock, set in East English wilds,

There, standing resolute against the ravages of history, and

Traversing from roots to this present, across time’s miles.

Each day that lapses rewrites your attestation,

Journeys taken reroute spiritual byways and highways,

Yet in our remoteness, when we’re lost, you’re there inviting,

Peter’s church guides us, through our fears of night and day

So much of the wonder, down through the ages, you have witnessed,

Lowly at your feet you've seen how Thorold’s city grew,

And although this growth has infringed your very portals,

With solemnity, these edifices bow their heads to you.

Your towering west Oaken doors stand solidly,

Against the tyranny of this world and unjust men,

To facilitate holding the evils from without,

Securing the goodness of others from within.

Ten centuries of unsure growth, decline, near death, then rebirth

History has fashioned and moulded this soil we till, sow and tread,

And though our past has included violent upheaval,

We can now greet our future, without fear or dread.

You stand so much more than just a house of worship,

Or just a shrine to the Anglican Christian Creed,

Saint Peter, Paul, and Andrew look down upon us,

Offering succour to those of us in need.

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