The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
For most of two centuries, the Clover Hill Reformed Church has stood as a beacon in the community.
The lighting of the steeple each night is a reassuring sign of hope, of God's presence. It is a signal light, shining in the darkness and pointing us to this truth.
A poem written by Kathe L. Palka, a CHRC Member
It stands as it always has, constant
even in the wake of December’s celebrations.
Along the Old Amwell Road, a white clapboard sentinel
whose vigil spans three centuries. Circa 1834.
Built in a wave of revival that swept the East
then rose up in a hundred wooden steeples,
its church spire rises still, visible by day
on all approaches to the gentle summit it occupies,
and at night, a lit beacon ascending in the darkness.
Churchyard stones bare its congregations’ chiseled history,
seven generations sustained - the weathered names
of Dutch and English founders, the shortened years
of children culled by epidemic, and the steady swell of those
who later came to settle over the farms of the Amwell Valley.
Like watchful eyes, high arched windows
bear ever patient witness to faith,
rippled panes glinting in the pale winter light.