This is the second in the sequence of seven sonnets on the Lord’s Prayer which I am posting this week as part of the church Of England’s Thy Kingdom Come week of prayer leading up to Pentecost. The Sonnets will be published together in my new book Parable and Paradox at the end of this month.
As always you can hear me read the sonnet by clicking on the title or the ‘play’ button.
I am grateful to Philippa Pearson for choosing the images that accompany this series, and to Margot Krebs Neale for the image which follows the poem
There’s something in the sound of the word hallow;
A haunting sense of everything we’ve lost
Amidst the trite, the trivial, the shallow,
Where nothing lingers, nothing seems to last.
But Hallowed, summons up our fear and wonder,
And summons us to stand on holy ground.
To sense the mystery that stands just under
Familiar things we’ll never understand.
Hallowed be thy name: the name unspoken,
The name from which all other names arise,
The name that heals the sick and binds the broken,
Whose living glory calls the dead to rise.
You make this prayer my rising and my rest
That I might bless the name by which I’m blessed.