Songs in search of a tune

Some songs, not hymns, don’t yet have a tune and sit here waiting.

 

She sets a candle in the window
her act of protest for the world.
A votive light
to mark the plight:
a putting right,
a little brightness in the sky.

 

She prays a new hope into being
and sees it dawning in her mind.
Across the world,
this truth unfurled:
her goodness hurled
at all the churlish hate and lies.

 

Ave Maria. Ave Maria.
Sing for us. Pray for us.
Ave Maria. Mary.

 

Now all the justice and the glory – all the rest –
the unrelenting good that’s not yet manifest:
is sung to being at this mother’s bold behest.
Maria sings that what is best will come to be.

 

Ave Maria. Ave Maria.
Sing for us. Pray for us.
Ave Maria. Mary.

 

She sets a candle in the window
her act of protest for the world.
A votive light
to mark the plight:
a putting right,
that breaks the night,
a quiet shout
that she lets out
her truth unfurled
across the world
a little brightness
just a little bit of brightness in the quiet evening sky.

 

 

Words © 2017 Gareth Hill Publishing/Song Solutions CopyCare, 14 Horsted Square, Uckfield, TN22 1QG http://www.songsolutions.org

 

Come with me to census city
see the child who doesn’t count,
where the refugees are rolling in.
Come with me to find a corner
just a foothold on the earth
– but enough for Christmas to begin.

 

It’s dark. It’s cold.
She’s young but feels so old,
and every step is a reminder
that she’s out here on her own.
If she cries who cares?
She’s lonely and she’s scared,
but no one wants to know you
when you’re far away from home.

 

It’s late. Stars shine.
She’s aching all the time,
and every cry is a reminder
that she cradles hope tonight.
If he cries lift him up
‘til he drains the bitter cup:
an outcast in a manger
but his mother holds him tight.

 

 
Come with me to census city
see the child who doesn’t count,
where the refugees are rolling in.
Come with me to find a corner
just a foothold on the earth
– but enough for Christmas to begin.

 

He’s old but proud,
unbeaten and unbowed,
but every day is a reminder
of the burden he has borne.
He finds the place,
finds heaven’s birthing space:
as, carpenter and pilgrim,
he builds the Son of God a home.

 

Come with me to census city
see the child who doesn’t count,
where the refugees are rolling in.
Come with me to find a corner
just a foothold on the earth
– but enough for Christmas to begin.

 

Copyright © Gareth Hill Publishing/Song Solutions CopyCare, 14 Horsted Square, Uckfield, TN22 1QG www.songsolutions.org
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… and I'm looking for the key

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