A volume, several volumes, would be needed to record all
the vandalism that has been done to our ecclesiastical structures in
the ages that have passed. We can only be thankful that some churches
have survived to proclaim the glories of English architecture and the
skill of our masons and artificers who wrought so well and worthily in
olden days.
In the chapter that relates to the erosion of our coasts we have
mentioned many of the towns and villages which have been devoured by
the sea with their churches. These now lie beneath the waves, and the
bells in their towers are still said to ring when storms rage. We need
not record again the submerged Ravenspur, Dunwich, Kilnsea, and other
unfortunate towns with their churches where now only mermaids can form
the congregation.
And as the fisherman strays
When the clear cold eve's declining,
He sees the round tower of other days
In the wave beneath him shining.
In the depths of the country, far from the sea, we can find many
deserted shrines, many churches that once echoed with the songs of
praise of faithful worshippers, wherein were celebrated the divine
mysteries, and organs pealed forth celestial music, but now forsaken,
desecrated, ruined, forgotten.
The altar has vanished, the rood screen flown,
Foundation and buttress are ivy-grown;
The arches are shattered, the roof has gone,
The mullions are mouldering one by one;
Foxglove and cow-grass and waving weed
Grow over the scrolls where you once could read
Benedicite.
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