Sacrilege
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Philippians 4:7
The Choral Evensong on BBC’s
Chaste programme had a hallowed Slavic tone
To it. The anthem carried on its breeze
The self of monkish singing like a moan,
That key to Russian music. Its “My soul”
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And also its Nunc dimittis were tinged
With bagpipe drone as well. An incense scroll
Of sound sussured pure airways thus unhinged
By scents from heaven’s steppes from basses, boys,
And counter tenors, organ underneath.
The worship and the chapel lifted poise,
A calmness only Jesus could bequeath.
But then came blasphemy as sordid as
Could be imagined, louche progressive jazz.
~ Phillip Whidden