I would like to have had a harp or a
Lyre, Lord, and walked in green pastures,
2000 years ago, chanting psalms,
Peaceful melodies and gentle tunes
In harmony. Except

It was the clash of brutal swords
And bloody revolutions to tear apart a people:
Cruel chastisement and execution.

But tonight we line the convent walls,
Sweet thankfulness for the luxury
Of time for prayers. ‘Our Saviour.’

At least here, Lord, we have the space
To converse with You, to listen, to wait,
For the sound of Your voice on the cloister walk.