The Censer Swinging Slow

The temple gates are open,
The censer swinging slow,
The call to all who would praise God,
Is one long shofar blow…

The temple prostitutes are set,
In flowing robes of silk,
The throbbing feet of merchant men,
Are washed in buttermilk,

The priest behind the altar cloth,
Presents his cup with glee,
Pray tarry in our mighty fold,
And stop to bend thy knee!

Praise to the Lord of Hosts above!
Praise to His holy name!
Praise to this day that God has forged,
By His eternal flame,

Bring your pigeons, bring your lamb withal,
Present your sacrifice,
The second best, it will not do,
The fairest will suffice!

An offering put forth with love,
A festival oblation,
A worthy gift and perfect act,
To honour God’s creation,

Bring your happy children too,
Their dainty laughter rising,
Through the pillared temple halls,
Their presence energising,

The choir is set to sing anon,
In buoyant harmony,
The rush of music through the crowd,
A wind that sets us free,

We’ve wine to fill the wooden cups,
We’ve fire to roast the beast,
We’ve every form of finery,
To dress our holy priest,

Purple robes with golden frills,
And captivating speeches,
To dedicate us to God’s law,
And every rule He teaches,

Jehovah and the holy ghost,
Will manifest in truth,
As we pronounce the words of God,
Unto our budding youth,

A holy people, gaining might,
By gleeful adoration,
One spirit keen in every heart,
With God our destination!

AD Lovkis, 13/05/25