Daventry calling… Dark and still,
The dead men sleep at the foot of the hill.
The dark tree, set on the height by the Dane,
Stands like a sentry over the slain.
Bowing his head above their tomb,
Till trumpet rends the seals of doom.
Earth has forgotten their ancient wars.
But the lone tree rises against the stars,
Whispering, “Here in my heart I keep,
Mysteries, deep as the world is deep.
Deeper far then the world ye know,
Is the world through which my voices go…”
Daventry calling… Wind and rain,
Against my voices light in vain.
The world through which my messages fare,
Is not of the earth, and not of the air.
When the black hurricane rides without,
My least melodies quell its shout.
My mirth and music, jest and song,
Shall through the very thunders throng.
You shall hear their lightest tone,
Stealing through your walls of stone.
Till your loneliest valleys hear,
The far cathedral’s whispered prayer.
And thoughts that speed the world’s desire,
Strike to your heart beside your fire.
And the mind of half the world,
Is in each little house unfurled.
Till time and Space are a dwindling dream,
And my true kingdoms round you gleam.
And ye discern the thing ye crave,
That I go deeper than the grave.
I, the sentinel; I, the tree,
Who binds all worlds in unity,
So that, sitting around your hearth,
Ye are at one with all the earth.
Daventry calling: memory, love,
The grave beneath, and the stars above,
Even in my laughter you shall hear,
The power to whom the far is near.
All are in one circle bound,
And all that ever was lost is found.
Daventry calling… Daventry calling…
Daventry calling… Dark and still…
The tree of memory stands like a sentry
Over the grave on the silent hill.