Beneath the quiet Doncaster sky, Where Woodlands’ winds move soft and slow, All Saints stands watch with patient eye, A steadfast friend through ebb and flow.
Its stones recall the prayers of old, Its windows catch the morning’s grace; And every path, by sunlight gold, Invites the weary to this place.
Here hearts find rest, and spirits rise— A gentle peace the world can’t steal; For in this house, ‘neath open skies, The hush of God feels warm and real.
A Crawley
