Church of England Diocese of Oxford Watling Valley, Milton Keynes

Tattenhoe - a Poem by Mabel Smith

Hidden it stands, this little church,

With cornfields all around;

But those who come to worship know

That this is holy ground.

And when the summer sun shines low

Across the level field,

The people come, with hearts aglow,

To God their praise to yield.

Built from the stones of ancient shrine,

By men whose bones are dust,

It still entreats of all who come

In God to put their trust .

Some day perhaps this little church

Will serve a larger throng

Of those who come from city great

To join with us in their song.

Meanwhile we'll keep our ancient shrine

Unharmed by wind and rain;

And in our summer evensongs

Fill it with joyful strain.

Mabel Smith (wife of Revd. Hilton Smith one time Vicar of Whaddon with Tattenhoe)

Hidden it stands, this little church,

With cornfields all around;

But those who come to worship know

That this is holy ground.

And when the summer sun shines low

Across the level field,

The people come, with hearts aglow,

To God their praise to yield.

Built from the stones of ancient shrine,

By men whose bones are dust,

It still entreats of all who come

In God to put their trust .

Some day perhaps this little church

Will serve a larger throng

Of those who come from city great

To join with us in their song.

Meanwhile we'll keep our ancient shrine

Unharmed by wind and rain;

And in our summer evensongs

Fill it with joyful strain.

Mabel Smith (wife of Revd. Hilton Smith one time Vicar of Whaddon with Tattenhoe)