To you at evening's sunset rays
We make our Benediction;
And chant the ancient Latin lays
With perfect English diction;
Although we know the Roman See
Has moved to speech that's native,
In Anglo-Cath'lic C of E,
We like the tense that's dative.

At Sunday Matins with the choir
We wear the full regalia,
But under all that stuff, perspire,
And wish for glossolalia
so that, from Greek or Hebrew tongue,
we could translate the reading,
and so appear to all that's come,
a priest of upper breeding.
 

At Evensong it's much the same,
with chant and psalm depressing,
but we were trained to play the game,
and just pronounce the blessing;
we thought the Book of Common Prayer
outdated and forsaken,
but once its language we compare
with new, we were mistaken.
 

The thee's and thou's give resonance
to canticle and anthem,
conveying some sense of permanence
in ways we cannot fathom;
In Holy Mass we reconstruct
the miracle of Passion,
and make quite sure that we instruct
in Anglo-Catholic fashion.
 

And so our liturgy we lace
with phrase from Roman Missal,
although in public we embrace
the Common Worship gristle;
so Forward in faith we boldly march,
the Prayer Book as our banner,
pausing awhile by chancel arch,
to sing in Greek, "Hosanna!"

©Pharisaios Publications 2001

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