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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=576764" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Humble Hymn Book</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=576764" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The Humble Hymn Book</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=576764" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I am the humble Hymn book, <br>You may have heard of me before.<br>You’d see me on the seat in front, <br>Or maybe on the floor.<br>But now I’m mostly not in Church, <br>No more beneath your feet.<br>Because, you see, the times have changed, <br>And now I’m obsolete<br> <br>I can’t seem to project myself, <br>In colours on the wall, <br>That clash with background graphics, <br>And words that are too small.<br>I don’t know how to show a verse, <br>Out of order or upside down.<br>Or jump between the choruses, <br>Like some demented clown.<br> <br>(Perhaps that’s what they want these days, <br>And clearly I’m not ‘with it’.<br>But it isn’t what they used to call, <br>The moving of the Spirit) <br> <br>I have no bulb or fuse to blow, <br>Just at the worship’s height.<br>I’m not troubled by a power cut, <br>Except perhaps at night<br>I wish I had some software, <br>To confuse a hapless aide.<br>Or cables draped across the floor, <br>To trip up some old maid.<br> <br>One time, any humble soul, <br>Could give out a book like me.<br>But now it needs a graduate, <br>To handle the technology.<br>My contents are an open book<br>An ever flowing stream<br>Not limited by the dictates<br>Of a pre programmed worship team<br> <br>(When thieves break into Church you know, <br>No value they see in me, <br>As well as the collection <br>They take the laptop and PC.) <br> <br>Do I have a future then? <br>My prospects may seem hopeless<br>Who cares this low tech book contains<br>A treasure trove of witness? <br>I’ll sit here in this cupboard dark<br>With the years of gathering dust<br>But I’ll be ready, at your call<br>When your novelties are bust</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=John+Coldwell">John Coldwell</a></strong></div>

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