Kyrielle

From Wikipedia,

“The Kyrielle is a poetic form that originated in 15^th century French troubadour poetry.”

The lines of a kyrielle are octosyllabic, rhyming couplets in quatrains with a refrain final line of each stanza. There is no limit to the number of stanzas, but there should be at least three. The name ‘Kyrielle’ derives from the Kyrie, which is part of some Christian liturgies, and would include the phrase ‘Lord, have mercy’, or similar.

“An English Baptist pastor, Cornelius Elven, wrote this hymn for a series of special services for his congregation in 1852. The text expresses the penitence of the Publican in the parable in Luke 18:9-14

1. With broken heart and contrite sigh
a trembling sinner, Lord, I cry:
thy pardoning grace is rich and free
O God, be merciful to me.

2. I smite upon my troubled breast,
with deep and conscience guilt oppressed;
Christ and his cross my only plea:
O God, be merciful to me.

3. Far off I stand with tearful eyes,
nor dare uplift them to the skies;
but thou dost all my anguish see:
O God, be merciful to me.

4. Nor alms, nor deeds that I have done,
can for a single sin atone;
to Calvary alone I flee:
O God, be merciful to me.

5. And when, redeemed from sin and hell,
with all the ransomed throng I dwell,
my raptured song shall ever be,
God has been merciful to me.

And mine,

Fam’ly photos in fancy frames,
Smiling faces and party games.
Treasured and happy times to hold
But her story cannot be told.

When all she had was torn apart
A fleeting moment held her heart,
Worth more than tons of solid gold
But her story cannot be told.

Joyful squeals of fun and laughter,
Yet no happy ever after
For those like her, left in the cold,
But her story cannot be told.

The tears that mingle with the rain,
A lonely sign of inward pain.
Her hopes and dreams may soon unfold
But her story cannot be told.

PMW July 2012

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Church - Raikes Parade Methodist Church

It was a sad day in 2003 when Raikes Parade Methodist Church held a final Methodist service and the doors were locked for the last time.  The church was no longer financially solvent.  Repair work was vital to hire out the church hall, but no money to pay for it, and no hire fees coming in – Catch 22. The congregation had diminished significantly in the preceding years.  It was nothing out of the ordinary. Members passed away and families moved on.  Reaching out into the local community seemed to have very little effect.  Most of the existing congregation lived away from the town centre, including myself.

We were married there and soon became part of the church family.  My husband was treasurer, Junior Mission for All (JMA) administrator and active member of the Men’s Fellowship.  I was crèche ‘auntie’ and Sunday School teacher for the infants. Sometimes there were no other children, just ours, so we would sit quietly in church doing some colouring and joining in with the prayers and singing.

When he was in the Cubs, our son was taking part in a St George and the Dragon drama at Sacred Heart Church after the St George’s Day parade in town. We squeezed on to a pew in the busy church with our young daughter, still on reins at that time, between us. We watched our son in the drama then I got crayons and paper out of my bag to keep little daughter occupied during the service. She was used to this. At the time for prayer, she decided to turn around, kneeling to face the people behind us who were talking quietly.

“Shush! Its hands together and eyes closed!” She said with air of authority beyond her age of two and half.

I thought I might die of embarrassment and apologised to the people behind at the earliest opportunity. Luckily they were very good humoured and said she had made their day.

It is fair to say that I was given a sound, Christian upbringing.  Previous generations were a mixture of Protestant and Catholic. As an older child I tried to get out of going to Sunday School more often than not, but by that time I was in charge of taking my little sister on the bus and back. No escape, but I could put my secret lipstick on.

I’m glad that Raikes Parade Church, is still a place of worship and hasn’t been demolished or converted beyond recognition. I have happy memories and although the congregation went separate ways into different churches, or in our case, not, we keep in touch. I only have to hear ‘Shine, Jesus, Shine’ or ‘Give Me Oil In My Lamp’ to be transported back with a smile.

 

Hymn by John Betjeman
 

The Church’s Restoration

In eighteen-eighty-three

Has left for contemplation

Not what there used to be.

How well the ancient woodwork

Looks round the Rect’ry hall,

Memorial of the good work

Of him who plann’d it all.

 

     He who took down the pew-ends
     And sold them anywhere

But kindly spared a few ends

Work’d up into a chair.

O worthy persecution

Of dust! O hue divine!

O cheerful substitution,

Thou varnished pitch-pine!

 

Church furnishing! Church furnishing!

Sing art and crafty praise!

He gave the brass for burnishing

He gave the thick red baize,

He gave the new addition,

Pull’d down the dull old aisle,

To pave the sweet transition

He gave th’ encaustic tile.

 

Of marble brown and veined

He did the pulpit make;

He order’d windows stained

Light red and crimson lake.

Sing on, with hymns uproarious,

Ye humble and aloof,

Look up! And oh how glorious

He has restored the roof!

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x 

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