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Prayers and poems
Planted in the love of the Father A Night in June Shield me The cattle grazing A Grape, a Well, a Spark, a Seed
Planted in the love of the Father
Planted in the love of the Father You can grow, dear one, You can grow.
Watered by the spring of the Spirit His fruit you’ll show, His fruit you’ll show.
And when the sun scorches,
And the thorns threaten, And the storms around life’s garden blow - Your roots will hold, And hold secure, Because you’re planted in the love of the Father, Daphne Kitching
A Night in June
The sun has long been set, The stars are out by twos and threes, The little birds are piping yet Among the bushes and the trees; There’s a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, And a far-off wind that rushes, And a sound of water that gushes, And the cuckoo’s sovereign cry Fills all the hollow of the sky. William Wordsworth
Shield me
O may God shield me, and may God fill, O may God watch me, and may God hold; O may God bring me where peace is still, To the King’s land, eternity’s fold. Praise to the Father, praise to the Son, Praise to the Spirit, the Three in One. From The Creed Prayer, poems of the Western Highlanders
The cattle grazing
Smooth pastures, long, and wide to roam, Beneath your hoofs rich meadowland, Friend God the Son to bring you home To fields where springs eternal stand, Fields where springs eternal stand. From poems of the Western Highlanders
A Grape, a Well, a Spark, a Seed
Lord, how much juice you can squeeze from a single grape. How much water you can draw from a single well. How great a fire you can kindle from a tiny spark. How great a tree you can grow from a tiny seed. My soul is so dry that by itself it cannot pray; Yet you can squeeze from it the juice of a thousand prayers. My soul is so parched that by itself it cannot love; Yet you can draw from it boundless love for you and for my neighbour. My soul is so cold that by itself it has no joy; Yet you can light the fire of heavenly joy within me. My soul is so feeble that by itself it has no faith;
Yet by your power my faith grows to a great height. Thank you for prayer, for love, for joy, for faith; Let me always be prayerful, loving, joyful, faithful. Guigo the Carthusian (d.1188)
Happily, the Church of England still retains some singular parish clergy. Take the parish of St James-the-Least in the county of C- for example. Here the elderly Anglo-Catholic vicar, Eustace, continues his correspondence to Darren, his nephew, a low-church curate recently ordained…
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