And human souls were not half-starved And stunted by the lack of that Which gleamed in glory from your eyes. Wild weeds that are rank with the rains. They crowned Him with a crown of thorns -- Red were His wounds and deep -- For those were crude and cruel days, And human flesh was cheap! Pierced by His pain the storm-clouds roll apart, Rings o'er the earth the message of the morning, Still on the Cross the Saviour bares His heart. Where the splendour of the sun? I suppose there 's no munitions. Oh, I have seen such sights F 8i As make me long to know The secret of that Rest Which gives men strength To suffer and endure the length Of endless misery that war entails ; For that were best To take that strength And use it not to slay but sow The seed of better worlds to be ; To use it not to kill But rather fill Men full of finer life, The life that never fails ; To open their blind eyes And make them see The Vision of the Highest as He is, To seek and find the better way By which men go forth not to slay But save men from their miseries. It was a mark of his concern for those he served and their families. But such is not Thy way, O God, Not such is Thy decree, But deed by deed, and tear by tear, Our souls must climb to Thee, As climbed the only Son of God From manger unto Cross, Who learned, through tears and bloody sweat, To count this world but loss.
Jack, Put my tunic underneath 'im, 'Ow 's that, chummy? After the war, Kennedy was given charge of St Edmund, King and Martyr, in Lombard Street, London. Then a downy head comes seeking for the pillow of my breast, And a gleeful voice calls chuckling for its Dad, And with two small arms around it my soul sinks back to rest. I walk in crowded streets where men And women, mad with lust, loose-lipped and lewd, Go promenading down to hell's wide gates ; Yet have I looked into my mother's eyes, And seen the light that never was on sea Or land, the light of Love, pure Love and true, And on that Love I bet my life. They must live in the world and yet not be of it. Over every other nation Tyrant mistress of the world. His visage is so marred, His face so pale.
And it may be, with this breath. Such is our plight Who search for Thee Across the bloody battlefields of Life. If we are, as I hope we are, going to be honest about some of those commorated who initiated crusades, then we can be honest about this. How much more, seventy years on! They have one mind for the sanctuary and another for the street. Then, God of mercy, send One ray Of Thine own glory light To touch our world to-day.
I remember, I thinks, thinks I to mysel', It 's a long time since 'E died. It has become an infinitely complex environment which tears and divides human souls. A collect is something we pray, and only if it serves that well, would it be well adapted to the contingencies of wordings from other contexts:. I couldn't speak, I felt as though 'E 'ad me by the throat, 'Twere like a drownin' fellah feels, Last moment 'e 's afloat. It is not an addendum to it, it is not something that follows conversion; it is that to which men need to be converted. Take from Thy golden Altar One living fiery coal, Welcome the pain it gives me.
The flesh and the devil change not, but the world is ever changing, and in these latter days it has changed rapidly, and has become a patchwork quilt, a tragic and terrible patchwork quilt, stained here and there with blood and tears. I remembers a day, When they blazed away, And they bust up a church to bits : 159 But the cross still stood, It were only wood. He began to see that war seemed to be pointless. The end and the aim of everything Is the Peace of God well earned. Studdert Kennedy 1When Jesus came to Golgotha they hanged Him on a tree, 2They drave great nails through hands and feet, and made a Calvary; 3They crowned Him with a crown of thorns, red were His wounds and deep, 4For those were crude and cruel days, and human flesh was cheap. That 's well over on the right. .
At the outbreak of the First World War, Kennedy volunteered as a chaplain to soldiers on the Western Front. Night shadowed all, and wandering winds came wailing from afar. The Christian adapts himself to the world because he cannot adapt the world to himself -- and despairs of doing so. O Grave, where is Thy victory? Prayer before an Attack To Stretcher Bearers To-day Thou shalt be with Me No Retaliation Thy Will be Done. He became a priest in 1910 and married in 1914 Emily Catlow.
Studdert Kennedy unique and so special as to deserve a commemoration. Is it only duty That is strong? When I 'm worn with all my praying! Looking upwards, hand in hand. For more information about this project,. And force us to do your will? Do you remember Rob McNeil And how he died, And cried, And pleaded with his men To take that gun, And kill the Hun That worked it dead? I'm trying to take a break at home in australia for the next week or so…but i'll throw myself back into it when i get back to St Andrews. And charity that burns to reach The very depths of hell, And lift them up to Christ, Who has our thirsty souls sufficed, Till they are drunk with God. Is the last thing, if mortal man could find it. And for that a soldier dies.
The face that oft would dimple into laughter At his first Baby tricks. He climbed up to the height. They make me laugh, Great solemn owls, That sit up blinking in the night, And prove that light Is darkness, and the sun a moon, Because it is too bright For their dull souls to see. If only we would pray enough. That is the very message of man's past, We know in part.
I 'd drink myself blind drunk. The churchwarden who owns slum property; the devout layman who will not face the problem of war; the earnest brewer who presents a chalice to the church in the suburbs bought with the profits of the drink shops in town; the Christian workman who helps the vicar, and perhaps serves at Mass, and leaves his mates to strive for an improvement of conditions which he knows is short of justice and humanity, and takes gladly when he gets it, though he will not work for it. Touch me and make me whole. As I ran I stumbled and fell over something. He went to the rich and he went to the poor, He went to the hungry and the lame He said that the poor would one day win the world, So they laid Jesus Christ in his grave. And then settled in the mud. If ole Fritz 'as been and got ye.
Damn the blasted war to 'ell, lass, It 's just bloody rotten waste. Amid the bluebells in the sun. They can do just as they like. On we '11 go through weal or woe. There 's an army thronging round Him as He takes the road to-night. More Light— More Light, O God of Life, one Breath Of air Or else we die.