Poem

This poem, of which an elderly handwritten version fell out of one of the diocesan library books when they were being packed, is attributed to several different people on the internet, including a nameless 19 year old English girl in service. A good thought, though, as we labour over Christmas catering!

Lord of all pots and pans and things

Since I’ve no time to be

A saint by doing lovely things

Or watching late with Thee,

Or dreaming in the dawn light,

Or storming Heaven’s gates

Make me a saint by getting meals

And washing up the plates.

Although I must have Martha’s hands

I have a Mary mind;

And when I black the boots and shoes,

Thy sandals, Lord, I find,

I think of how they trod the earth

What time I scrub the floor;

Accept this meditation, Lord,

I haven’t time for more.

Warm all the kitchen with Thy love,

And light it with Thy peace;

Forgive me all my worrying,

And make all grumbling cease.

Thou who didst love and give men food

In room or by the sea,

Accept this service that I do –

I do it unto Thee.