At Crich the world is very still, The clouds are wrapped in sleep; A Tower stands high upon the hill The watch to keep. But once a year upon a day, The bugles sound the call; “Good people come and quietly pray For those who gave their all” “Good people come and pray again That the world may be forgiven; Let not their sacrifice be in vain, Grant peace for which they’ve striven” The Tower stands high upon the hill, The lamp is turning slow; Deathless, their souls are with us still, Remembering us, we know. Anon