老教堂的大门敞开着，虽然没有钟声，也没有歌声。你为何不进去跪下?这是夕阳西下的时刻，所有人都开始感到需要祈祷，向我们共同的天父祈祷:守护黑夜，宽恕白昼。是高傲的轻蔑，还是卑微的怀疑，使你站在那里徘徊;一半在教堂，一半不在，在世界和祈祷之间?“没有合适的时机可以让人与上帝单独交谈。”那个粗心大意的司事，你看，已经扛起他的铁锹，往家走去了。"牧师每天的巡视已经结束了;他的背刚垂到额下。他一个接一个地走过村庄街道两旁的门廊，现在，他在花园里翻阅着书页，沉思着明天的文章。 The homebound rustic counts his wage, The same last week, the same the next. ``Nor priest nor hind are you, but each Alike is welcome here within; Both they who learn, and they who teach, Have secret sorrow, secret sin. ``Enter, and bare your inmost sore; Enter, and weep your stain away; Leave doubt and darkness at the door; Come in and kneel, come in and pray.'' Such were the words I seemed to hear, By no one uttered, but alack! The voice of many a bygone year, Striking the church, and echoing back. I entered not, but on a stone Sate, that recorded some one's loss; But name and date no more were shown, The deep-cut lines were smooth with moss. Below were longsome tags of rhyme, But what, you could not now surmise. Alas! alas! that death and time Should overgrow love's eulogies. Round me was Death that plainly spoke The hopes and aims that life denied; The curious pomp of simple folk, The pedantry of rustic pride. Some slept in square sepulchral caves, Some were stretched flat, and some inurned; And there were fresh brown baby graves, Resembling cradles overturned. From where I sate I still could watch The old oak pews, the altar white. Gable and oasthouse, tile and thatch, Smiled softly in the sunset light. From here and there a cottage roof, Spires of blue vapour 'gan to steal; To eyes of love a heavenly proof The mother warmed the evening meal. No more the mill-stream chafed and churned; The wheel hung still, the meal lay whole; From marsh and dyke the rooks returned, And circled round and round the toll. The lambs were mute, the sheep were couched, The hop-poles bent 'neath leaf and bine; Adown the road the vagrant slouched, And glanced up at the alehouse sign. Again I heard the unseen voice: ``Why do you come not in and rest? Whether you grieve or you rejoice, You here will be a welcome guest. ``To Heaven it is the half-way house, Where hope can feed, and anguish may Recline its limbs and rest its brows, With simple thanks for ample pay. ``Was it not here you got the name Which is of you so close a part, That, uttered, it hath magic claim To flush love's cheek, to flood love's heart? ``Here too it was, when youth confessed The weariness of random ways, And felt a surging in the breast For faithful nights and fruitful days, ``You came with one who, conquering fear When love surprised first thought to fly, Acknowledged with a tender tear The sweetness of captivity. ``And here 'twill be when you have ta'en Last look of love, last look of Spring, When hearts for you will yearn in vain, And vain for you the birds will sing, ``That shuffling feet and slow will come, With cumbrous coffin, gloomy pall, And, while within you moulder dumb, That prayers will rise and tears will fall. ``And should Death haply prove your friend, And what in life was scorned should save, Hither it is that feet will wend, To read the name upon your grave.'' I heard the voice no more. The rooks Had ceased to float, had ceased to caw; The sunlight lingered but in nooks, And, gazing toward the west, I saw, Beyond the pasture's withered bents, Upstanding hop, recumbent fleece, And sheaves of wheat, like weathered tents, A twilight bivouac of peace. Into itself the voice withdrew. A something subtle all around Came floating on the rising dew, And sweetness took the place of sound. No word of mine, although my heart Rebelled, the scented stillness shook; But silence seemed to take my part, Thus mildly answering mild rebuke: ``'Tis true I have to you not brought My eager or despondent mood, But still by wood and stream have sought The sanctity of solitude. ``But as a youth who quits his home To range in tracts of freër fame, However far or wide he roam, Dwells fondly on his mother's name; `