I want to tell you a story about a most wonder man;
To really extol all His virtues, I’m not sure that I can;
I was only a little baby when I encountered Him first,
I was probably only a year or two old, with a milky insatiable thirst.
My mum introduced me to Him; she’d know Him for ages you see,
She told me that I ought to meet Him and he’d be quite pleased to meet me.
And as I grew older and wiser I would love him myself more and more;
I found out that He was my hero and someone that I could adore.
He’d comfort me when I was lonely; He’d be near me if I was in pain;
He’d gather me close and caress me; He’d touch me again and again.
And as I continued to meet Him, Him leading I couldn’t resist;
He wanted me always beside Him; if I left Him I’d sorely be missed.
This wonder man is so close now we’re never a moment apart;
I love Him so much I’m in Heaven; I’ll hold Him for aye in my heart.
Yes I’ve fallen in love with Jesus; He loved me so much He could die,
And that’s what He did just to save me; I love Him so much I could cry.
I could tell you hundreds of stories to illustrate His love and care,
But you just have to look in the bible and all of the stories are there.
So ask Him this wonder saviour, persist in your courtship and love
And He’ll love you on earth for your lifetime, then in Heaven He’ll greet you above.
He’ll welcome you with His arms open, He’ll embrace you and then He will say
“I’m so pleased you’ve come, I’ve been waiting, isn’t this a glorious day?”
“I’ve got a home ready for you; it’s finished and furnished with love;
Come and share it with me my beloved, let us live in this mansion of love.”
Friday, 15 July 2011
A Valentine’s Lament
I’m one of Britain’s unclaimed treasures in the antique shop of life,
I’ve never been a sweetheart and I’ve never been a wife.
Nobody’s ever sent me a laced trimmed valentine,
Nobody’s ever told me “O dearest please be mine.”
Now why is this I ask myself I’m really not that bad?
Why am I told “You will never miss what you have never had.”?
I’ve tried it on with him and him and him and him and him,
I’ve looked with love and longing at Charles and Fred and Jim.
I’ve flirted with the husband of several of my mates,
But I’ve never made them jealous, well, I don’t get any dates.
My shelf’s getting very rickety; I hope that I don’t fall,
I’d have to scramble back myself, there’s none to hear my call.
O somebody who’s out there please hear my request,
Send to me a valentine, one of your very best.
Tell me I am wonderful; tell me I am kind,
But please, please, PLEASE don’t ever tell me that all true love is blind.
I’ve never been a sweetheart and I’ve never been a wife.
Nobody’s ever sent me a laced trimmed valentine,
Nobody’s ever told me “O dearest please be mine.”
Now why is this I ask myself I’m really not that bad?
Why am I told “You will never miss what you have never had.”?
I’ve tried it on with him and him and him and him and him,
I’ve looked with love and longing at Charles and Fred and Jim.
I’ve flirted with the husband of several of my mates,
But I’ve never made them jealous, well, I don’t get any dates.
My shelf’s getting very rickety; I hope that I don’t fall,
I’d have to scramble back myself, there’s none to hear my call.
O somebody who’s out there please hear my request,
Send to me a valentine, one of your very best.
Tell me I am wonderful; tell me I am kind,
But please, please, PLEASE don’t ever tell me that all true love is blind.
A Halloween Lament
I’m a witch that’s made redundant; I’ve been and got the sack;
They’ve taken away me union card and they won’t give it back.
They’ve broken up me broomstick and chased away me cat,
Now all I’ve got is me book of spells and me big tall witch’s hat.
I used to be successful, I worked me spells alright,
I flew around and frightened folk in the middle of the night;
But one late night I lost me way, so dark I couldn’t see,
I landed me broomstick stuck in a farmer’s apple tree.
He wasn’t none too happy, to be honest nor was I,
I’m not that fond of apples excepting in a pie.
A branch had pierced me “You know what” and scratched me “You know where.”
I’d apples up me jumper and I’d tangled up me hair.
Another day I worked a spell to start a shower of rain,
But I hadn’t got the spell worked out to turn it off again.
The countryside was flooded from Land’s End to John O’Groats,
And the only happy people were the ones who sold raincoats.
A mean princess once asked me to turn a prince into a frog,
I ended up by turning her into a puppy dog;
She yapped at people’s ankles and tiddled on the floor,
And then she bit my finger to even up the score.
I once attempted something that really was quite hard,
I tried to make an express train from someone’s credit card,
It should have been quite easy but of course I made a mess,
And all I finished up with was American Express.
So now I’m still redundant, will no one take me in?
I’ll bring alone me book of spells and me real teak rollin’ pin.
I’m not too bad at pastry if you don’t mind if its green,
I make quite tasty sandwiches with beetles in between.
I’ll make the beds and sweep the floors and answer the doorbells,
But don’t ask me for magic, I’M JUST NO GOOD AT SPELLS!
They’ve taken away me union card and they won’t give it back.
They’ve broken up me broomstick and chased away me cat,
Now all I’ve got is me book of spells and me big tall witch’s hat.
I used to be successful, I worked me spells alright,
I flew around and frightened folk in the middle of the night;
But one late night I lost me way, so dark I couldn’t see,
I landed me broomstick stuck in a farmer’s apple tree.
He wasn’t none too happy, to be honest nor was I,
I’m not that fond of apples excepting in a pie.
A branch had pierced me “You know what” and scratched me “You know where.”
I’d apples up me jumper and I’d tangled up me hair.
Another day I worked a spell to start a shower of rain,
But I hadn’t got the spell worked out to turn it off again.
The countryside was flooded from Land’s End to John O’Groats,
And the only happy people were the ones who sold raincoats.
A mean princess once asked me to turn a prince into a frog,
I ended up by turning her into a puppy dog;
She yapped at people’s ankles and tiddled on the floor,
And then she bit my finger to even up the score.
I once attempted something that really was quite hard,
I tried to make an express train from someone’s credit card,
It should have been quite easy but of course I made a mess,
And all I finished up with was American Express.
So now I’m still redundant, will no one take me in?
I’ll bring alone me book of spells and me real teak rollin’ pin.
I’m not too bad at pastry if you don’t mind if its green,
I make quite tasty sandwiches with beetles in between.
I’ll make the beds and sweep the floors and answer the doorbells,
But don’t ask me for magic, I’M JUST NO GOOD AT SPELLS!
God’s Generous Gift’s
When God created heaven and earth and brought the entire world to birth,
He made the sky, He made the stars, He made the sun and earth and Mars
The great creations work He wrought and man into the world He brought.
But then His hand created more, I wonder what He made them for?
God didn’t need to make us flowers so beautiful in beds and bowers,
The smallest snowdrop in the spring is fairer far than anything.
Man’s hand can fashion or design, yet in it’s sweetness it is mine.
The daffodil, narcissus fair, God didn’t need to place them there.
He didn’t need to make a rose that fragrant fair in garden grows,
He didn’t need to make a tree so stately tall and blowing free.
He didn’t need to make a stream, where we can idly sit and dream,
Or birds to sing and fill the air with music for our ears to hear.
The lily of the valley neat perfumes the air with fragrance sweet,
God didn’t need to make it so, without it’s scent it still could grow.
The numbers of these extra gifts from God’s own hands our spirits lift.
They help to make our lives worthwhile they help us laugh, they help us smile.
But OH the greatest gift we know, God sent His son on earth to grow.
To be a man and then to die that we might live with Him on high.
He didn’t need this gift to make, to sacrifice Christ for our sake,
But yet He did and so I say “Let us rejoice on Easter Day”
For Christ arose to live forever, no power on earth that bond can sever.
“Twixt Him and us, so let us sing” He lives for aye, our Lord and King.
He made the sky, He made the stars, He made the sun and earth and Mars
The great creations work He wrought and man into the world He brought.
But then His hand created more, I wonder what He made them for?
God didn’t need to make us flowers so beautiful in beds and bowers,
The smallest snowdrop in the spring is fairer far than anything.
Man’s hand can fashion or design, yet in it’s sweetness it is mine.
The daffodil, narcissus fair, God didn’t need to place them there.
He didn’t need to make a rose that fragrant fair in garden grows,
He didn’t need to make a tree so stately tall and blowing free.
He didn’t need to make a stream, where we can idly sit and dream,
Or birds to sing and fill the air with music for our ears to hear.
The lily of the valley neat perfumes the air with fragrance sweet,
God didn’t need to make it so, without it’s scent it still could grow.
The numbers of these extra gifts from God’s own hands our spirits lift.
They help to make our lives worthwhile they help us laugh, they help us smile.
But OH the greatest gift we know, God sent His son on earth to grow.
To be a man and then to die that we might live with Him on high.
He didn’t need this gift to make, to sacrifice Christ for our sake,
But yet He did and so I say “Let us rejoice on Easter Day”
For Christ arose to live forever, no power on earth that bond can sever.
“Twixt Him and us, so let us sing” He lives for aye, our Lord and King.
Summers gone by…
Now what are your memories of summer? Of days that are long gone and past. Are your memories of wall to wall sunshine, of warm days that went on and on?
When I think of my childhood in London, and yes I was once a child; I think of the outdoors and playtime of weather so gentle and mild.
Of Wanstead Park just outside London, from home a good four miles walk, but no one complained of the distance, we filled travelling time with fun talk.
I remember too Wanstead flats funfair, of roundabouts coloured so bright. It was nice going there in the daylight, but magic on a warm summer’s night.
Big brothers would try to win coconuts and O the sweet coconut taste, if you used the shells to make noises then never a scrap went to waste.
Then there were the days of high summer when out on the pavement we’d play, no traffic for danger or noises, we’d wile daylight hours all away.
We’d play whip and top or with yoyo’s or sit on the step playing jacks, we’d not worry about too much sunshine, we liked the warm sun on our backs.
We loved playing mothers and fathers, our children were so good and kind, even when dad went off to the office leaving hard working mothers behind.
Our dinners were flowers and privet on sycamore leaves nicely set. We never considered it might rain and all of our dinners get wet.
But of course the real highlight of summer was the Lowestoft trip on the train, we came different months every year but never had one drop of rain.
In fact it was such a sure happening that it would be sunny and bright. Lots of friends said “Let’s follow the Sexton’s then the weather is sure to be right.”
We’d be first on the beach every morning with socks and shoes off in a trice
and into the water to paddle and didn’t the wavelets feel nice?
And then there were sandwiches eaten with plenty of sand from the beach, and ice creams that now cost a fortune, and then were just one halfpenny each.
By lunchtime the sand was real burning but we didn’t mind the heat; we’d walk on the prom with no shoes on and really toughened our feet.
Mind you there were times we felt sorry our feet were all naked and bare, a cigarette end or a plumstone and we wished we were allowed to swear!
Then back on the beach after eating, the old Punch and Judy was great, or out on a rowboat and hoping the boatman was needing a mate.
Or if we weren’t on it we’d push it and cheer as it floated away, and then we’d await its returning and from the sea haul it away.
We loved to return after teatime to play on the sand for a while, and as the warm darkness descended we’d walk for mile after mile.
Then sometimes we’d watch from the promenade and see the sunshine on the sea. And no place on earth could attract more – there’s nowhere we’d rather be.
These are some of my memories of summer remembered with joy and with love. I thank the dear Lord for my summers and the blessings received from above.
When I think of my childhood in London, and yes I was once a child; I think of the outdoors and playtime of weather so gentle and mild.
Of Wanstead Park just outside London, from home a good four miles walk, but no one complained of the distance, we filled travelling time with fun talk.
I remember too Wanstead flats funfair, of roundabouts coloured so bright. It was nice going there in the daylight, but magic on a warm summer’s night.
Big brothers would try to win coconuts and O the sweet coconut taste, if you used the shells to make noises then never a scrap went to waste.
Then there were the days of high summer when out on the pavement we’d play, no traffic for danger or noises, we’d wile daylight hours all away.
We’d play whip and top or with yoyo’s or sit on the step playing jacks, we’d not worry about too much sunshine, we liked the warm sun on our backs.
We loved playing mothers and fathers, our children were so good and kind, even when dad went off to the office leaving hard working mothers behind.
Our dinners were flowers and privet on sycamore leaves nicely set. We never considered it might rain and all of our dinners get wet.
But of course the real highlight of summer was the Lowestoft trip on the train, we came different months every year but never had one drop of rain.
In fact it was such a sure happening that it would be sunny and bright. Lots of friends said “Let’s follow the Sexton’s then the weather is sure to be right.”
We’d be first on the beach every morning with socks and shoes off in a trice
and into the water to paddle and didn’t the wavelets feel nice?
And then there were sandwiches eaten with plenty of sand from the beach, and ice creams that now cost a fortune, and then were just one halfpenny each.
By lunchtime the sand was real burning but we didn’t mind the heat; we’d walk on the prom with no shoes on and really toughened our feet.
Mind you there were times we felt sorry our feet were all naked and bare, a cigarette end or a plumstone and we wished we were allowed to swear!
Then back on the beach after eating, the old Punch and Judy was great, or out on a rowboat and hoping the boatman was needing a mate.
Or if we weren’t on it we’d push it and cheer as it floated away, and then we’d await its returning and from the sea haul it away.
We loved to return after teatime to play on the sand for a while, and as the warm darkness descended we’d walk for mile after mile.
Then sometimes we’d watch from the promenade and see the sunshine on the sea. And no place on earth could attract more – there’s nowhere we’d rather be.
These are some of my memories of summer remembered with joy and with love. I thank the dear Lord for my summers and the blessings received from above.
Just Suppose
Just suppose that God in heaven had not sent His son to earth,
Just suppose that hosts of angels had not carolled at His birth,
Just suppose that all His childhood He’d not lived a life of truth,
Just suppose He’d not had Mary there to guide Him as a youth.
Just suppose that He’d not chosen fishermen to be His friends,
Just suppose that they’d not helped Him to achieve His Father’s ends.
Just suppose there’d been no Easter, just suppose He had not died,
Just suppose that on that Friday – just suppose He’d turned aside.
Just suppose He’d not been willing pain and death to suffer there,
Just suppose that He’d rejected cruel nails and thorns to bear.
Just suppose they’d let Barrabas suffer on the cruel tree,
Just suppose that “God forgive them” had been an unuttered plea.
Just suppose that on the Sunday they had found Him in the tomb,
Just suppose He had not risen to save man from death and gloom.
Just suppose that God in heaven did not care what happens here,
Just suppose that, when we call, His spirit is not always near.
But we know that, just as springtime brings new life to this dark world,
Just as trees and buds and flowers in the warning earth unfold,
So we know the God the Father, God the Son and Spirit too,
Will fulfil the Easter promise Jesus lives for me and you, but
Just suppose we were not ready this great truth to comprehend.
He had promised all who love Him, “I am with you to the end”, so
Just suppose that, when our end comes, we are fearful, sore afraid,
We will feel His loving presence and His arms around us laid.
Just suppose we had no voices, but thank God, that isn’t true.
So just suppose we shout to heaven, Hallelujah Praise to You!
Though I put my name to this, truthfully it wrote itself.” K.M.S.
Just suppose that hosts of angels had not carolled at His birth,
Just suppose that all His childhood He’d not lived a life of truth,
Just suppose He’d not had Mary there to guide Him as a youth.
Just suppose that He’d not chosen fishermen to be His friends,
Just suppose that they’d not helped Him to achieve His Father’s ends.
Just suppose there’d been no Easter, just suppose He had not died,
Just suppose that on that Friday – just suppose He’d turned aside.
Just suppose He’d not been willing pain and death to suffer there,
Just suppose that He’d rejected cruel nails and thorns to bear.
Just suppose they’d let Barrabas suffer on the cruel tree,
Just suppose that “God forgive them” had been an unuttered plea.
Just suppose that on the Sunday they had found Him in the tomb,
Just suppose He had not risen to save man from death and gloom.
Just suppose that God in heaven did not care what happens here,
Just suppose that, when we call, His spirit is not always near.
But we know that, just as springtime brings new life to this dark world,
Just as trees and buds and flowers in the warning earth unfold,
So we know the God the Father, God the Son and Spirit too,
Will fulfil the Easter promise Jesus lives for me and you, but
Just suppose we were not ready this great truth to comprehend.
He had promised all who love Him, “I am with you to the end”, so
Just suppose that, when our end comes, we are fearful, sore afraid,
We will feel His loving presence and His arms around us laid.
Just suppose we had no voices, but thank God, that isn’t true.
So just suppose we shout to heaven, Hallelujah Praise to You!
Though I put my name to this, truthfully it wrote itself.” K.M.S.
Christmas shopping
Chorus: Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way
How those shops tills rattle when its time to pay
1. Under one thousand pounds, look only nine, ninety-nine, ninety-nine
Not even ten pence under, still it’s a very special line.
Chorus …
2. “Look mum a super blaster, everyone’s got one.”
Unfortunately you remember what got shot with last year’s gun!
Chorus …
3. Oh those special offers, two for the price of one
Why not make them all half price, oh no that’s not the way it’s done.
Chorus …
4. Everyone’s pushing and shoving, Christmas shopping is better done
Halfway through the summer, but then it’s not so much fun
chorus …
5. Now you can shop on the telly, how do you say “on line”?
I’m scared stiff to try it, if it went wrong the fault would be mine
I’d probably buy a gorilla or a tank or a battleship, Wow!
When I need a disc or a video, not a pig or a sheep or a cow.
Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way
How those computers fool you when you shop the modern way
6. But one thing you don’t have to pay for, a free gift for me and for all
A baby born to be Saviour and laid in a cattle stall.
Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way
Sing praises, joyous praises, it’s nearly Christmas day!
How those shops tills rattle when its time to pay
1. Under one thousand pounds, look only nine, ninety-nine, ninety-nine
Not even ten pence under, still it’s a very special line.
Chorus …
2. “Look mum a super blaster, everyone’s got one.”
Unfortunately you remember what got shot with last year’s gun!
Chorus …
3. Oh those special offers, two for the price of one
Why not make them all half price, oh no that’s not the way it’s done.
Chorus …
4. Everyone’s pushing and shoving, Christmas shopping is better done
Halfway through the summer, but then it’s not so much fun
chorus …
5. Now you can shop on the telly, how do you say “on line”?
I’m scared stiff to try it, if it went wrong the fault would be mine
I’d probably buy a gorilla or a tank or a battleship, Wow!
When I need a disc or a video, not a pig or a sheep or a cow.
Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way
How those computers fool you when you shop the modern way
6. But one thing you don’t have to pay for, a free gift for me and for all
A baby born to be Saviour and laid in a cattle stall.
Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way
Sing praises, joyous praises, it’s nearly Christmas day!
Thoughts on summer
What do you like about summer?
Is it the warm summer sun?
Is it the jolly day outings? Or is it that spring cleaning’s done?
What do you like about summer?
Is it the soft summer rain?
Or the storms with the water, like stairrods flooding the garden again?
What do you like about summer?
Is it the garden of flowers?
Or the backache and screaming leg muscles after weeding for hours and hours?
What do you like about summer?
Is it the buzz of the bees?
Or is it wasps, gnats and mosquitoes bringing up bumps on your knees?
What do you like about summer?
Is it the fat mealy bugs?
Or is it the lettuces eaten by fat slimy snails and slugs?
What do you like about summer?
Is it that journey by car?
Or maybe the train full to bursting and traffic jams in melting tar?
What do you like about summer?
Is it the beauty you see?
Is it the mountains and forests; that shout God is good to me?
All of the things that make summer, all of these things play a part;
All of these things echo loudly “O my God great thou art.”
Is it the warm summer sun?
Is it the jolly day outings? Or is it that spring cleaning’s done?
What do you like about summer?
Is it the soft summer rain?
Or the storms with the water, like stairrods flooding the garden again?
What do you like about summer?
Is it the garden of flowers?
Or the backache and screaming leg muscles after weeding for hours and hours?
What do you like about summer?
Is it the buzz of the bees?
Or is it wasps, gnats and mosquitoes bringing up bumps on your knees?
What do you like about summer?
Is it the fat mealy bugs?
Or is it the lettuces eaten by fat slimy snails and slugs?
What do you like about summer?
Is it that journey by car?
Or maybe the train full to bursting and traffic jams in melting tar?
What do you like about summer?
Is it the beauty you see?
Is it the mountains and forests; that shout God is good to me?
All of the things that make summer, all of these things play a part;
All of these things echo loudly “O my God great thou art.”
Plastic Christmas
We’re having a plastic Christmas with a beautiful plastic tree,
It’s trimmed with plastic baubles a beautiful sight to see.
It’s standing in its plastic pot with a plastic fairy too,
It won’t shed its leaves before twelfth night I like that, wouldn’t you?
We’ve got some plastic holly about the picture frames,
A bit of plastic mistletoe for playing kissing games,
Our plastic decorations are stuck with plastic goo,
And plastic holy figures make a crib scene far from true.
We’ve got a plastic turkey, the whitest ever seen.
And a plastic pack of frozen peas to add a touch of green.
They’re sitting in the freezer with fish and fruit and bread,
Hope I don’t forget to defrost them or it’s plastic ham instead.
A plastic Christmas pudding’s there in a lovely plastic bag,
Quite different from my mum’s homemade tied up in a bit of rag.
And on the day I’ll heat it up in a clean white plastic bowl,
And serve it up with plastic cream which squirts through a little hole.
In the stories there’s plastic Santas giving out their plastic gifts.
It’s not always the same of course, they have to work in shifts.
Our plastic Christmas presents are tied with plastic bows;
Our plastic table centre has a gold sprayed plastic – rose?
The plastic music that we hear is played on plastic tapes,
Or plastic discs or video’s and how that music scrapes.
The carols that we’re used to are plasticated too,
They’re jazzed up and romanticized into a yucky goo.
Now you may think I’m complaining but that just isn’t so,
I love the time of Christmas especially if there’s snow.
It’s the greatest season for men or peace on earth,
For it’s the happy season of the Blessed Christchild’s birth.
There’s nothing plastic in Him, He’s real life flesh and blood;
He was born in a stable of rock and grass and mud.
And real and lovely angels sang gaily from the skies,
To those hardworking shepherds with wonder in their eyes.
In horror with hands to mouths, they realised what they’d done,
And mother chased them from the door with “Go on, quickly, run.”
This story had a happy end when baby was recovered.
She couldn’t understand the fuss, with kisses she was smothered.
And mother hugged the baby.
Now that was a true story but only told to me,
And there’s another story, as well known as can be.
You’ve heard it many times before, you know the one I mean.
The story that is old yet new, a story evergreen.
It’s all about a baby.
Now Christmas day will soon be here with all its food and fun,
But still before the day arrives there’s masses to be done.
There’s all the decorations, the Christmas tree as well,
The holly and the mistletoe; the stars, the silver bell.
You’ll have no time to stand and stare, at least so you will say,
But please remember in your haste to find the time to pray.
AND DON’T FORGET THE BABY!
It’s trimmed with plastic baubles a beautiful sight to see.
It’s standing in its plastic pot with a plastic fairy too,
It won’t shed its leaves before twelfth night I like that, wouldn’t you?
We’ve got some plastic holly about the picture frames,
A bit of plastic mistletoe for playing kissing games,
Our plastic decorations are stuck with plastic goo,
And plastic holy figures make a crib scene far from true.
We’ve got a plastic turkey, the whitest ever seen.
And a plastic pack of frozen peas to add a touch of green.
They’re sitting in the freezer with fish and fruit and bread,
Hope I don’t forget to defrost them or it’s plastic ham instead.
A plastic Christmas pudding’s there in a lovely plastic bag,
Quite different from my mum’s homemade tied up in a bit of rag.
And on the day I’ll heat it up in a clean white plastic bowl,
And serve it up with plastic cream which squirts through a little hole.
In the stories there’s plastic Santas giving out their plastic gifts.
It’s not always the same of course, they have to work in shifts.
Our plastic Christmas presents are tied with plastic bows;
Our plastic table centre has a gold sprayed plastic – rose?
The plastic music that we hear is played on plastic tapes,
Or plastic discs or video’s and how that music scrapes.
The carols that we’re used to are plasticated too,
They’re jazzed up and romanticized into a yucky goo.
Now you may think I’m complaining but that just isn’t so,
I love the time of Christmas especially if there’s snow.
It’s the greatest season for men or peace on earth,
For it’s the happy season of the Blessed Christchild’s birth.
There’s nothing plastic in Him, He’s real life flesh and blood;
He was born in a stable of rock and grass and mud.
And real and lovely angels sang gaily from the skies,
To those hardworking shepherds with wonder in their eyes.
In horror with hands to mouths, they realised what they’d done,
And mother chased them from the door with “Go on, quickly, run.”
This story had a happy end when baby was recovered.
She couldn’t understand the fuss, with kisses she was smothered.
And mother hugged the baby.
Now that was a true story but only told to me,
And there’s another story, as well known as can be.
You’ve heard it many times before, you know the one I mean.
The story that is old yet new, a story evergreen.
It’s all about a baby.
Now Christmas day will soon be here with all its food and fun,
But still before the day arrives there’s masses to be done.
There’s all the decorations, the Christmas tree as well,
The holly and the mistletoe; the stars, the silver bell.
You’ll have no time to stand and stare, at least so you will say,
But please remember in your haste to find the time to pray.
AND DON’T FORGET THE BABY!
Don’t forget the baby
In nineteen hundred and twenty three, in the middle of sunny June,
The boys and girls in Sunday school on a Sunday afternoon,
To a mother and father with five in family,
There came the last addition and just in time for tea;
A tiny female baby.
Her brothers loved her dearly and her sister too,
They played with her and tickled her; they loved to hear her coo.
She learned to crawl, she learned to stand and soon she learned to walk,
It wasn’t long before they wished she hadn’t learned to talk.
She was a noisy baby.
There was a lady living near but not a child had she,
She really loved that baby, that baby was me,
So “Please can I adopt her?” she to my mother said
“My dear, I couldn’t give her up, she is mine born and bred.”
I was a cherished baby.
One day when I was older but still a quite small child,
Mum called for one of my brothers while he was playing wild.
“Just go up to the high street and buy a loaf of bread,
it won’t take long it isn’t far,” and then my mother said.
“and you can take the baby.”
With pushchair and with basket he set off with a friend,
My mother was quite unaware of how the trip would end.
The bread was bought in record time, there was no time to spare,
With games to play and balls to kick, their thoughts were just not there,
And they forgot the baby.
The got back home with bread and said “Now can we go and play?
We were in the middle of a real great game.” Mum said “What did you say?”
Mum said “I expect so, but first do tell me please, where have you left the baby?”
The kings who came to visit with gifts so fine and rare,
Well they weren’t plastic either, no, they could stand and stare,
At this sweet babe at Bethlehem the Saviour of mankind;
The Lord made flesh for all our sakes, the halt, the lame, the blind.
The black the white the yellow, the saint, the sinner too;
He came to be the dearest friend for me, and yes, for you.
So as we share this plastic Christmas lets spare a thought at least,
For the Blessed baby Jesus, as Him to share the feast.
Ask Him to shed His blessing upon this plastic life,
And maybe, yes just maybe, there’ll be an end to war and strife.
The boys and girls in Sunday school on a Sunday afternoon,
To a mother and father with five in family,
There came the last addition and just in time for tea;
A tiny female baby.
Her brothers loved her dearly and her sister too,
They played with her and tickled her; they loved to hear her coo.
She learned to crawl, she learned to stand and soon she learned to walk,
It wasn’t long before they wished she hadn’t learned to talk.
She was a noisy baby.
There was a lady living near but not a child had she,
She really loved that baby, that baby was me,
So “Please can I adopt her?” she to my mother said
“My dear, I couldn’t give her up, she is mine born and bred.”
I was a cherished baby.
One day when I was older but still a quite small child,
Mum called for one of my brothers while he was playing wild.
“Just go up to the high street and buy a loaf of bread,
it won’t take long it isn’t far,” and then my mother said.
“and you can take the baby.”
With pushchair and with basket he set off with a friend,
My mother was quite unaware of how the trip would end.
The bread was bought in record time, there was no time to spare,
With games to play and balls to kick, their thoughts were just not there,
And they forgot the baby.
The got back home with bread and said “Now can we go and play?
We were in the middle of a real great game.” Mum said “What did you say?”
Mum said “I expect so, but first do tell me please, where have you left the baby?”
The kings who came to visit with gifts so fine and rare,
Well they weren’t plastic either, no, they could stand and stare,
At this sweet babe at Bethlehem the Saviour of mankind;
The Lord made flesh for all our sakes, the halt, the lame, the blind.
The black the white the yellow, the saint, the sinner too;
He came to be the dearest friend for me, and yes, for you.
So as we share this plastic Christmas lets spare a thought at least,
For the Blessed baby Jesus, as Him to share the feast.
Ask Him to shed His blessing upon this plastic life,
And maybe, yes just maybe, there’ll be an end to war and strife.
Thoughts on Christmas
I’m glad I’m not Father Christmas all dressed up in fur and in red.
I’m glad I don’t have to bring presents to children all tucked up in bed.
It always seems such a rush job all done in one night, what a bind
And even with help from young Rudolph, some kids are quite hard to find.
And anyway I don’t really fancy flying round in a sleigh all the night,
And I’d surely get stuck in a chimney and that would be some Christmas sight.
I’m glad that I’m not a candle in red or in green or in blue
I don’t want to have my hair lighted and burnt to a cinder, would you?
I’m glad that I’m not a plum pudding tied up in a basin with string.
Then sat in a pan of hot water, a very uncomfortable thing.
I’m glad that I’m not a cracker placed neatly by somebody’s plate,
To be split in the middle by pulling is every cracker’s sad fate.
The out would fall hate, toy and motto. A motley collection I’m sure
The hat never fits, the toy falls apart and the motto we’ve all heard before.
I might enjoy being the fairy that’s seated on top of the tree,
A’waving her wand and looking around, a beautiful creature is she.
But when Christmas is done then what happens? She is stuffed back inside a box.
Her silvery gown is all crumpled and she’s subject to all sorts of knocks
Her wings are detached and then fall off, her wand? Well that disappears,
Her halo slips down round her shoulders and tinsel gets stuffed in her ears.
I wouldn’t mind being some holly all shiny and prickly and green,
Poking out from behind all the pictures where only the duster has been.
But what about later when dried up and curled up you slip to the floor?
Your berries all gone you’d feel silly and know that you’re pretty no more.
I’m glad that I’m not a turkey running around in a yard.
Being bumped off and defeathered must come particularly hard.
Then singed, cleaned out and made ready, you know what is coming I’m sure
They push stuffing right up inside you, sage and onion and sausage and more.
There is not time to stand and stare; no time to kneel and pray
For time is rushing forward and it soon will be “THE DAY!”
Everything’s about prepared; all stacked upon the shelves.
All very well for others but what about ourselves?
All very well to carol sing and share a festive board,
But are we ready to receive the gift of Christ the Lord?
Our hearts must be wide open for Him to come and dwell,
And we must cry “We’re ready Lord, O come Emmanuel.”
And know we are prepared.
I’m glad I don’t have to bring presents to children all tucked up in bed.
It always seems such a rush job all done in one night, what a bind
And even with help from young Rudolph, some kids are quite hard to find.
And anyway I don’t really fancy flying round in a sleigh all the night,
And I’d surely get stuck in a chimney and that would be some Christmas sight.
I’m glad that I’m not a candle in red or in green or in blue
I don’t want to have my hair lighted and burnt to a cinder, would you?
I’m glad that I’m not a plum pudding tied up in a basin with string.
Then sat in a pan of hot water, a very uncomfortable thing.
I’m glad that I’m not a cracker placed neatly by somebody’s plate,
To be split in the middle by pulling is every cracker’s sad fate.
The out would fall hate, toy and motto. A motley collection I’m sure
The hat never fits, the toy falls apart and the motto we’ve all heard before.
I might enjoy being the fairy that’s seated on top of the tree,
A’waving her wand and looking around, a beautiful creature is she.
But when Christmas is done then what happens? She is stuffed back inside a box.
Her silvery gown is all crumpled and she’s subject to all sorts of knocks
Her wings are detached and then fall off, her wand? Well that disappears,
Her halo slips down round her shoulders and tinsel gets stuffed in her ears.
I wouldn’t mind being some holly all shiny and prickly and green,
Poking out from behind all the pictures where only the duster has been.
But what about later when dried up and curled up you slip to the floor?
Your berries all gone you’d feel silly and know that you’re pretty no more.
I’m glad that I’m not a turkey running around in a yard.
Being bumped off and defeathered must come particularly hard.
Then singed, cleaned out and made ready, you know what is coming I’m sure
They push stuffing right up inside you, sage and onion and sausage and more.
There is not time to stand and stare; no time to kneel and pray
For time is rushing forward and it soon will be “THE DAY!”
Everything’s about prepared; all stacked upon the shelves.
All very well for others but what about ourselves?
All very well to carol sing and share a festive board,
But are we ready to receive the gift of Christ the Lord?
Our hearts must be wide open for Him to come and dwell,
And we must cry “We’re ready Lord, O come Emmanuel.”
And know we are prepared.
Be prepared…
When Christmastime is over and the New Year begins,
We’re into January with its snow and biting wind,
The shops are full of offers and sales and good galore,
And we think about next Christmas and cheap presents we can store.
Like the boy scouts “Be prepared”.
Now into February all dark and grey and cold,
We find some Christmas paper that’s slightly tarnished gold,
‘twill do for wrapping parcels for distant friends and such,
like Auntie Gertie and Uncle Bert who we don’t see very much.
Like boy scouts “Be prepared”.
March comes in like a lion with the winds a’ howling round,
We look at Christmas greetings on some old cards we have found.
Out come the pinking scissors, bits of ribbon, coloured string,
We’ll make some nice bright labels we can tie on everything.
Like boy scouts “Be prepared”.
Now April comes and springtime and we fee that we should start.
To knit a nice pullover for a favourite sweetheart;
If we don’t begin in April we’ll never get it done,
And Christmas is upon us when we’ve only just begun.
Like the boy scouts “Be prepared”.
“Well what of May?” I hear you say, well Eastertime is over,
Well if we visit more spring sales we’ll be really be in clover.
We’ve spent more than we meant to, buying gifts we can’t remember,
We’ll probably have lost them when it comes round to December!
Still like boy scouts “Be prepared.”
Now June means holidays for us, we won’t pack up too much.
We’ll leave behind those little things, like shoes and coats and such.
We must leave room to carry home those gifts to put away,
We can say “That came from Scarborough” when it comes to Christmas Day
Like boy scouts “Be prepared.”
July, well now we’re halfway through the changing year,
We’d better think of clothing and all our winter gear.
‘cos now we’re into summer the sandals are all gone,
And shops are into winter boots, “Buy it now it won’t be long!”
Like boy scouts “Be prepared.”
August and school holidays, the kids are all at sea,
It rains all day for half the week “O where can summer be?”
Never mind “let’s make some Christmas cards to pass the time away.”
We start and then the sun comes out and they all rush out to play.
Like boy scouts we’re now getting prepared.
Ah September back to school and we can have some peace,
And we can do some shopping without “I want, O please.”
We’ll get the main ingredients for cake and puddings too,
And homemade mincemeat will be nice it isn’t hard to do.
Like boy scouts “Be prepared.”
October, O good gracious the year is flying past,
There’s only two more months to go we think of it aghast.
Now let me see, there’s cards to write that must be sent abroad,
Where on earth did we put them? O well we’ll have to buy some more.
Well we tried to be prepared.
November comes upon us with bazaars and autumn fairs,
We cook the puds and cakes and store them underneath the stairs.
There’s all the presents to sort out, to find out who has what,
There’s far too much for him and her but for them there’s “Not a lot!”
But we’re still getting prepared.
And now we’re in December and everything’s at “Go!”
There’s sweets and nuts and fruit to buy and shops are all aglow;
With tempting offers “Come and buy, it’s only thirty quid!”
Now did we get a tie or socks for dear old Uncle Syd?
I’m glad I’m not even the wishbone though folk thinks it’s lucky to hold.
Then break both your legs by pulling, then expect wishes granted, that’s bold!
No, on the whole trappings of Christmas, hold disaster discomfort and doom,
But looking around me I’m happy, just to be me in this room.
Expecting the Christchild’s arrival and knowing He’ll come and He’ll save
He’ll love me with all of my weakness and He’ll love me right up to the grave.
So I’m glad I’m not tinsel or turkey or all of those transitory things,
For I know my life can be eternal, and that is why my heart sings.
We’re into January with its snow and biting wind,
The shops are full of offers and sales and good galore,
And we think about next Christmas and cheap presents we can store.
Like the boy scouts “Be prepared”.
Now into February all dark and grey and cold,
We find some Christmas paper that’s slightly tarnished gold,
‘twill do for wrapping parcels for distant friends and such,
like Auntie Gertie and Uncle Bert who we don’t see very much.
Like boy scouts “Be prepared”.
March comes in like a lion with the winds a’ howling round,
We look at Christmas greetings on some old cards we have found.
Out come the pinking scissors, bits of ribbon, coloured string,
We’ll make some nice bright labels we can tie on everything.
Like boy scouts “Be prepared”.
Now April comes and springtime and we fee that we should start.
To knit a nice pullover for a favourite sweetheart;
If we don’t begin in April we’ll never get it done,
And Christmas is upon us when we’ve only just begun.
Like the boy scouts “Be prepared”.
“Well what of May?” I hear you say, well Eastertime is over,
Well if we visit more spring sales we’ll be really be in clover.
We’ve spent more than we meant to, buying gifts we can’t remember,
We’ll probably have lost them when it comes round to December!
Still like boy scouts “Be prepared.”
Now June means holidays for us, we won’t pack up too much.
We’ll leave behind those little things, like shoes and coats and such.
We must leave room to carry home those gifts to put away,
We can say “That came from Scarborough” when it comes to Christmas Day
Like boy scouts “Be prepared.”
July, well now we’re halfway through the changing year,
We’d better think of clothing and all our winter gear.
‘cos now we’re into summer the sandals are all gone,
And shops are into winter boots, “Buy it now it won’t be long!”
Like boy scouts “Be prepared.”
August and school holidays, the kids are all at sea,
It rains all day for half the week “O where can summer be?”
Never mind “let’s make some Christmas cards to pass the time away.”
We start and then the sun comes out and they all rush out to play.
Like boy scouts we’re now getting prepared.
Ah September back to school and we can have some peace,
And we can do some shopping without “I want, O please.”
We’ll get the main ingredients for cake and puddings too,
And homemade mincemeat will be nice it isn’t hard to do.
Like boy scouts “Be prepared.”
October, O good gracious the year is flying past,
There’s only two more months to go we think of it aghast.
Now let me see, there’s cards to write that must be sent abroad,
Where on earth did we put them? O well we’ll have to buy some more.
Well we tried to be prepared.
November comes upon us with bazaars and autumn fairs,
We cook the puds and cakes and store them underneath the stairs.
There’s all the presents to sort out, to find out who has what,
There’s far too much for him and her but for them there’s “Not a lot!”
But we’re still getting prepared.
And now we’re in December and everything’s at “Go!”
There’s sweets and nuts and fruit to buy and shops are all aglow;
With tempting offers “Come and buy, it’s only thirty quid!”
Now did we get a tie or socks for dear old Uncle Syd?
I’m glad I’m not even the wishbone though folk thinks it’s lucky to hold.
Then break both your legs by pulling, then expect wishes granted, that’s bold!
No, on the whole trappings of Christmas, hold disaster discomfort and doom,
But looking around me I’m happy, just to be me in this room.
Expecting the Christchild’s arrival and knowing He’ll come and He’ll save
He’ll love me with all of my weakness and He’ll love me right up to the grave.
So I’m glad I’m not tinsel or turkey or all of those transitory things,
For I know my life can be eternal, and that is why my heart sings.
Leftovers
At this time of year leading up to Christmas, with all its work and its fun,
I’ve taken time out to consider the leftovers when it’s all done.
When wrapping up presents there’s paper, bits too big to throw away,
Yet too small to wrap anything bigger then a matchbox but who’s to say?
Bits of string tangled up and discarded, “I’ll sort that out sometime I’m sure”
There’s sellotape mangled and twisted and some of it’s stuck to the floor.
There’s leftover labels we’ve cut out from other year’s cards sent to us,
So carefully pinked they’re a triumph, the inventor is so ingenioUS!
When making the cake and the pudding there’s bits that get left behind.
There’s icing too much to be wasted, too small to be saved, what a bore.
Then there’s sure to be some cards left over, we bought extra as ever in case
Someone sends to us who’d we’d forgotten and none of us wants to lose face.
And even right down to presents there’s that extra one we have obtained
For someone who might have decided to emigrate or might have remained We’ve put up the decorations and hung up the lights on the tree,
There’s leftover baubles and tinsel as far as our tired eyes can see.
When the cards come there’s envelopes torn off lying around upon chair and on floor
And postage stamps cut off for saving “O goodness here come some more!”
When Christmas is here there’s left overs, like nutshells trod into the floor.
Or flung on the gas fire in error, what to do about that I’m not sure.
You go to the fridge and my goodness, you can’t get another thing in.
The turkey, well what used to be one, just now the bird looks a bit thin.
The giblets leer up from a basin, I don’t know quite why I forgot.
The gravy was made out of stock cubes and some juice from the turkey I got.
There’s left over pudding and sauces, what to do with them isn’t quite clear
But somehow we’ll use them I’m certain, it happens the same every year.
The tree sheds its leaves and you find them trodden into the carpet around
And even the hoover refuses to pick them all up so I’ve found.
The holly is dried up and revolting, the berries have dropped long ago,
And now we’ve no fires to burn them, in the dustbin they’ll have to go.
But when Christmas is over and done with and you think of the new year to be,
There’s a leftover that’s so important, you don’t need reminding by me.
But still I’ll remember it with you; the goodwill and peace upon earth,
And the greatest thing about Christmas the reality of Jesus’s birth.
Let’s carry it forward together as we sing and recite and we share
The best leftovers we can imagine; show the rest of the world that we care.
I’ve taken time out to consider the leftovers when it’s all done.
When wrapping up presents there’s paper, bits too big to throw away,
Yet too small to wrap anything bigger then a matchbox but who’s to say?
Bits of string tangled up and discarded, “I’ll sort that out sometime I’m sure”
There’s sellotape mangled and twisted and some of it’s stuck to the floor.
There’s leftover labels we’ve cut out from other year’s cards sent to us,
So carefully pinked they’re a triumph, the inventor is so ingenioUS!
When making the cake and the pudding there’s bits that get left behind.
There’s icing too much to be wasted, too small to be saved, what a bore.
Then there’s sure to be some cards left over, we bought extra as ever in case
Someone sends to us who’d we’d forgotten and none of us wants to lose face.
And even right down to presents there’s that extra one we have obtained
For someone who might have decided to emigrate or might have remained We’ve put up the decorations and hung up the lights on the tree,
There’s leftover baubles and tinsel as far as our tired eyes can see.
When the cards come there’s envelopes torn off lying around upon chair and on floor
And postage stamps cut off for saving “O goodness here come some more!”
When Christmas is here there’s left overs, like nutshells trod into the floor.
Or flung on the gas fire in error, what to do about that I’m not sure.
You go to the fridge and my goodness, you can’t get another thing in.
The turkey, well what used to be one, just now the bird looks a bit thin.
The giblets leer up from a basin, I don’t know quite why I forgot.
The gravy was made out of stock cubes and some juice from the turkey I got.
There’s left over pudding and sauces, what to do with them isn’t quite clear
But somehow we’ll use them I’m certain, it happens the same every year.
The tree sheds its leaves and you find them trodden into the carpet around
And even the hoover refuses to pick them all up so I’ve found.
The holly is dried up and revolting, the berries have dropped long ago,
And now we’ve no fires to burn them, in the dustbin they’ll have to go.
But when Christmas is over and done with and you think of the new year to be,
There’s a leftover that’s so important, you don’t need reminding by me.
But still I’ll remember it with you; the goodwill and peace upon earth,
And the greatest thing about Christmas the reality of Jesus’s birth.
Let’s carry it forward together as we sing and recite and we share
The best leftovers we can imagine; show the rest of the world that we care.
I wish I was…
I wish I was a butterfly with wings all bright and pretty,
I could visit all the flowers in country and in city,
But I don’t know I’ve had a thought, and this could be a killer;
I’d have to live my childhood as a creepy caterpillar.
We’ll what about a ladybird? She’s loved the whole world over,
For eating all the greenfly off roses and off clover.
But then I thought, according to the nursery rhyme I’ve read,
Someone keeps burning her house down while her children are sleeping in her bed.
Perhaps I could be something larger, a rabbit or perhaps a hare,
They can run jump and play all the live long day and sleep almost any old where.
Then again perhaps not for if I got ill, then who’s to make a diagnosis?
It might be the ‘flu or a cold or it might be Myxomatosis.
A giraffe might be nice, it can see far and wide
With it’s neck stretching high in the air;
But if tonsillitis should enter the scene
Then the sore throat would be too hard to bear.
An elephant then? Surely that would be great.
It likes buns and cuddles and pets
But my memory’s not what it was years ago
And an elephant never forgets.
A cow? That’s a thought, black and white or in brown
You meet her in the field or in lane
But memory once more would surely let me down
To stand up or sit down in the rain?
So once again I’ll settle for continuing just as I am.
I know I have sinned and am sure always will, though I try to be good if I can.
God sent us His son to be human and to suffer and die on the tree,
I could visit all the flowers in country and in city,
But I don’t know I’ve had a thought, and this could be a killer;
I’d have to live my childhood as a creepy caterpillar.
We’ll what about a ladybird? She’s loved the whole world over,
For eating all the greenfly off roses and off clover.
But then I thought, according to the nursery rhyme I’ve read,
Someone keeps burning her house down while her children are sleeping in her bed.
Perhaps I could be something larger, a rabbit or perhaps a hare,
They can run jump and play all the live long day and sleep almost any old where.
Then again perhaps not for if I got ill, then who’s to make a diagnosis?
It might be the ‘flu or a cold or it might be Myxomatosis.
A giraffe might be nice, it can see far and wide
With it’s neck stretching high in the air;
But if tonsillitis should enter the scene
Then the sore throat would be too hard to bear.
An elephant then? Surely that would be great.
It likes buns and cuddles and pets
But my memory’s not what it was years ago
And an elephant never forgets.
A cow? That’s a thought, black and white or in brown
You meet her in the field or in lane
But memory once more would surely let me down
To stand up or sit down in the rain?
So once again I’ll settle for continuing just as I am.
I know I have sinned and am sure always will, though I try to be good if I can.
God sent us His son to be human and to suffer and die on the tree,
Questions
What were you thinking you shepherds as you tended your sheep that night?
What did you think when the angels arrived in a blaze of light?
What did you think of their singing, of peace and goodwill to men?
And tales of a newborn baby asleep in the cattle den?
Why did you do to the stable, leaving your sheep to the night?
Was it because you were curious to see an unusual sight?
Did the message of hope really move you and drive you to visit the Child?
And did you expect to see Mary, a mother so gentle and mild?
And when you got to the stable, and saw Him asleep in the hay,
Did you see Him as Saviour and ruler, and this was a wonderful day?
Did you get really excited and believe that your journey was right?
Or were you a bit disappointed expecting a more regal sight?
How are you greeting this Christmas, do you heed what the angels have told?
Do we run leaving all things to greet Him? Just like the shepherds of old?
Will we accept Him as Saviour, Redeemer, and trust Him for all of our days?
Let’s offer ourselves like the shepherds and worship with wonder and praise.
What did you think when the angels arrived in a blaze of light?
What did you think of their singing, of peace and goodwill to men?
And tales of a newborn baby asleep in the cattle den?
Why did you do to the stable, leaving your sheep to the night?
Was it because you were curious to see an unusual sight?
Did the message of hope really move you and drive you to visit the Child?
And did you expect to see Mary, a mother so gentle and mild?
And when you got to the stable, and saw Him asleep in the hay,
Did you see Him as Saviour and ruler, and this was a wonderful day?
Did you get really excited and believe that your journey was right?
Or were you a bit disappointed expecting a more regal sight?
How are you greeting this Christmas, do you heed what the angels have told?
Do we run leaving all things to greet Him? Just like the shepherds of old?
Will we accept Him as Saviour, Redeemer, and trust Him for all of our days?
Let’s offer ourselves like the shepherds and worship with wonder and praise.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)