Evensong at Ely
The organ’s music rolls across the nave,
Voices soar in harmony, sweet and clear,
With measured tread, expressions aptly grave,
Two by two the cathedral choir appears.
Long shadows trace the carvings on the stalls
Where they assemble, gowned in red and white;
We revel in their singing quite enthralled
By angelic faces framed in candlelight.
Some hours ago they ran out on the field,
Got mud-stained, bruised and tattered, fought and won,
Now washed and brushed – all injuries concealed –
They sing the praises of God’s holy Son,
Within the compass of this hallowed place,
Which rises from the fenland’s soft embrace.