Two priest poems.

I know that it is asecular holiday in North America and a pagan holiday here, but the next poem in the temple is not of this time. The old divines were very aware they were unworthy to serve, and did so only by the grance of God.

Church-lock and key.

I Know it is my sinne, which locks thine eares,
And bindes thy hands,
Out-crying my requests, drowning my tears;
Or else the chilnesse of my faint demands.

But as cold hands are angrie with the fire,
And mend it still;
So I do lay the want of my desire,
Not on my sinnes, or coldnesse, but thy will.

Yet heare, O God, onely for his blouds sake
Which pleads for me:
For though sinnes plead too, yet like stones they make
His blouds sweet current much more loud to be.

Geroge Herbert

But the church is not a building, but people. Yes, I know Herbert would have said that: he is using the furniture of the church as a metaphor. But I want to stretch this. The other metaphore of the church is that it shall be the bride of Christ.

At the Wedding March

God with honour hang your head,
Groom, and grace you, bride, your bed
With lissome scions, sweet scions,
Out of hallowed bodies bred.

Each be other’s comfort kind:
Déep, déeper than divined,
Divine charity, dear charity,
Fast you ever, fast bind.

Then let the March tread our ears:
I to him turn with tears
Who to wedlock, his wonder wedlock,
Déals tríumph and immortal years.

Gerard Manly Hopkins