PILGRIMAGE

 

We need to walk a pilgrims way,

Hard firing for we men of clay,

A palmers cross and scallop shell,

To close and clasp the gates of hell.

 

Celestial towers beyond each cloud,

The trumpets sounding clear and loud,

The golden footpath leading on,

Bright dreams eternal, all doubts gone.

 

But pilgrims roads have chasms deep,

The paths are narrow hard and steep,

Despondency destroys the will,

We feel the bite of winters chill.

 

The failing flesh must take the strain,

The uphill climb the endless pain,

As thunder clouds hide heavens gate,

We’re clinker in the devils grate.

 

We feel the flames they lick and burn,

No place to go nowhere to turn,

The sun implodes the dark crowds in,

With life some final gift to sin.

 

And yet we reach and hope is there,

The antidote to dark despair,

The holy grail the saintly rite,

Mans sanctuary from endless night.

 

And with this hope we find our rock,

Not split or riven safe from shock,

A compass point a star of faith,

A knightly armoured holy wraith.

 

What more to tell what more to say,

Sufficient then for every day,

What ere life brings to stand secure,

Entire, ennobled blessed and sure.

 

Then held in love, enduring, proud,

We raise our banner from the crowd,

We shout triumphant sword in hand,

Crusaders for the promised land.

 

What grace we find what grace we seek,

Will make us strong but save us meek,

Will save us whole brought not apart,

And give to us a loving heart.

 

We pilgrims then to hope and love,

With nothing else to place above,

Our panegyric then must be,

That pilgrimage had set us free.