The Book of Common Prayer
In the days of the week,
And the months of the year,
We’re clinging on yet to our Paganite past –
In the gods we don’t seek
And yet still keep so near:
Forgotten the stories, remembered the cast.
In holly and ivy,
And heather for luck,
They still work their magic on God-fearing hosts.
In gargoyles so lively,
In faerie and Puck:
Heretical heroes now villains and ghosts.
In the names of the planets,
And shapes in the stars,
They still rule the heavens, till night-time is done
They never will ban it,
Too deep are their scars –
We praise our new God on the Day of the Sun.
