Hymn

[deepblue]

Here is a hymn I modified. Anyone feel like singing it in church?

 

There is a green hill far away,

Outside a city wall,

Where the dark Lord was crucified

Who died yet damned us all.

 

We may not know, we cannot tell,

What pains he had to bear,

But we believe ’twas not for us

He hung and suffered there.

 

He died that few might be forgiven,

He died to make them good,

But we would end up lost in hell,

Spurned by his worthless blood.

 

There was no other bad enough

To leave the world in sin,

He only could make wide the gate

Of hell and chuck us in.

 

O poorly, poorly has he loved!

So we must hate him too,

And shun his useless, powerless blood,

And ne’er his works to do.

 

The original was written by Cecil Frances Alexander.

 

 

 

Jon.

www.antichurch.org.uk

[Grandpa Harley]

Somewhere between Yeates' 'Second Coming' and Tierney's 'Drums of Chaos'

[deepblue]

So you are a fan of fantasy literature I take it? I hadn't heard of either of those works!

[Grandpa Harley]

W.B. Yeats is a poet

 

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

 

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again; but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

[Grandpa Harley]

Or Shelley, in Prometheus Unbound

 

In each human heart terror survives

The ravin it has gorged: the loftiest fear

All that they would disdain to think were true:

Hypocrisy and custom make their minds

The fanes of many a worship, now outworn.

They dare not devise good for man's estate,

And yet they know not that they do not dare.

[Grandpa Harley]

So you are a fan of fantasy literature I take it? I hadn't heard of either of those works!

 

and yes... I'm somewhat eclectic in my reading...