Hallelujah
Hallelujah in the chapels, hymn book carried in the hand
Sunday service just beginning, songs of praise throughout the land.
Stiffened collars stop the breathing, fox firs wrap the holy psalm
Prophets wait on every corner, collection coins from every palm.
Listen hard to sermon soaring, vicar fists the air with gall
Spittle flies with words of fire, finger points to one and all.
Left behind the sound of tin works, forgings dropped to wait for dawn
All too soon the Sunday rest-day enters darkness before the morn.
Bible thumping red faced pastor, collar stud flies off in rage
Sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, cufflinks left on a Holy page.
Hackles bristle in crescendo spitting oaths to all before
Shouting at the unbelievers, empty pews and polished floor.
Organ shakes the very roof-top, pulpit heaves with words of praise
Vicar holds the Holy Bible, reaches for the Cross to raise.
Tattered hymn books lead the choir onward past King David's Sword
Soaring from the mouths of deacons, tailored suits and Holy word.
Soldier on you Sons of Angels send the Devil's hosts to burn,
Wicked thoughts forever banished into hell ne'er to return.
So sing your anthems holy choir and listen to the words you sing
Hallelujah to the Father, hallelujah to the King.
Roger Lewis
July 2013
