St Mary Magdalen, Old Fish Street Hill

On winter evenings I walk alone in the City

    When cobbles glisten with wet and it’s foggy and still;

I am Rector’s warden here. But more’s the pity

    We haven’t the Charity children now to fill

Our old west gallery front. Some new committee

    Has done away with them all. I beg your pardon,

    I omitted to tell you where I am Rector’s warden—

At St Mary Magdalen’s church, Old Fish Street Hill.

Unfortunately, the London Conflagration

    Of sixteen sixty-six was a moment when

The Roman style in general estimation

    Was held so high that our church was rebuilt by Wren.

It is just a box with a fanciful plaster ceiling

Devoid of a vestige of genuine Christian feeling,

    And our congregation is seldom more than ten.