There on the shelf lies the leather bound hymn book, <br />Once taken to chapel on each Sunday morn, <br />For so many years it had served a great purpose <br />But now it lies faded, so battered and worn. <br /> <br />The pages been turned many times many searches, <br />For dog-eared and creased by those kind Christian hands, <br />Whose voices sang out in the praise of our Saviour, <br />And rang through the hills of these once sacred lands. <br /> <br />Yet now almost silent as churches lie empty, <br />Demolished, converted or left boarded up, <br />And hiding the stained-glass that once let in sunlight, <br />Who now to taste the sweet wine from the cup? <br /> <br />When this hymn book was new I know things were so different, <br />I wish we'd return to those times long before, <br />As cast now aside on that dusty old bookcase, <br />Once valued and cherished but not anymore. <br /> <br />I look at the words written down through the ages, <br />They still carry meaning from which we should learn, <br />And each seems to stir a deep passion within me, <br />I long for the day that my Lord shall return.<br /><br />ANDREW BLAKEMORE<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-battered-hymn-book/
