A lowly hill which overlooks a flat,

Half sea, half country side;

A flat-shored sea of low-voiced creeping tide

Over a chalky, weedy mat.

A hill of hillocks, flowery and kept green

Round Crosses raised for hope,

With many-tinted sunsets where the slope

Faces the lingering western sheen.

A lowly hope, a height that is but low,

While Time sets solemnly,

While the tide rises of Eternity,

Silent and neither swift nor slow.