There was a church by the river

There was a church by the river
That held more memories than any will ever know
Some stretching centuries back
Some not too long ago
Through the middle was a beaten track
Worn by many who were weary

The gravestones each stood there dreary
Marking names and not much more
Some stood alone, some stood in pairs
With sadness when one date was 20 years before
Yet now both rest, without cares
With etchings that would fade with years

But it's not just the passed who find respite here
A bench where one could find rest within
A swing marked the path to the river banks
Poems and prayer on a board with pin
A fundraiser, with the church's thanks
The living also walked among these trees

Through the gate, past the monument of memories
Stood the church itself, though the doors were closed
Yellowed stone, a temporarily silenced bell
Ancient figures guarded the windows
Stood this building teaching heaven and hell
A portal to the past and the forever

Though the stones were worn with weather
The foundations stood quite strong
Hidden on a hill in a bountiful garden
Was a place where time did not belong
And any soul could come for a pardon
There was a church by the river

The church in the picture is Holy Cross in Shipton-on-Cherwell. I came across it on my travels, and was struck by the place.