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Quotes about chapel, page 4

Matthew Arnold

Tristram And Iseult

I
TRISTRAM

Tristram. Is she not come? The messenger was sure—
Prop me upon the pillows once again—
Raise me, my page! this cannot long endure.
—Christ, what a night! how the sleet whips the pane!
What lights will those out to the northward be?

The Page. The lanterns of the fishing-boats at sea.

Tristram. Soft—who is that, stands by the dying fire?

The Page. Iseult.

Tristram. Ah! not the Iseult I desire.

What Knight is this so weak and pale,
Though the locks are yet brown on his noble head,
Propt on pillows in his bed,

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The Holy Grail

From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done
In tournament or tilt, Sir Percivale,
Whom Arthur and his knighthood called The Pure,
Had passed into the silent life of prayer,
Praise, fast, and alms; and leaving for the cowl
The helmet in an abbey far away
From Camelot, there, and not long after, died.

And one, a fellow-monk among the rest,
Ambrosius, loved him much beyond the rest,
And honoured him, and wrought into his heart
A way by love that wakened love within,
To answer that which came: and as they sat
Beneath a world-old yew-tree, darkening half
The cloisters, on a gustful April morn
That puffed the swaying branches into smoke
Above them, ere the summer when he died
The monk Ambrosius questioned Percivale:

`O brother, I have seen this yew-tree smoke,

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Chapel of Love

Every time I see a church,
I see something special there.
A meeting place of faith
beyond our mortal being.
A place where love is cherished,
across every distant land.
A place of hope not anguish,
somewhere you can stand,
and give thanks for everything you have.
A chapel of love and compassion
with no axe or cross to bear.
A chapel of love and hope,
which is what I see standing there.

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William Blake

The Garden of Love

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And ‘Thou shalt not’ writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.

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Till Death Due Us Part

Wedding Bells will ring today
in the chapel dressed with hues
of white baby breath

At the strike of ONE you will
say I DO from that day forward
till DEATH WILL DO US PART

Tears of joy are shed, with blessings
sent from the chapel, crying tears
from my heart will lie in silent

You said I DO and I had to find some
meaning in this endless nightmare

So my love you say I Do, you live
your life till the fullest, I know without
words to be spoken, exactly what
lies in your heart till death due US PART

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James Stephens

Westland Row

Every Sunday there's a throng
Of pretty girls, who trot along
In a pious, breathless state
(They are nearly always late)
To the Chapel, where they pray
For the sins of Saturday.

They have frocks of white and blue,
Yellow sashes they have too,
And red ribbons show each head
Tenderly is ringleted;
And the bell rings loud, and the
Railway whistles urgently.

After Chapel they will go,
Walking delicately slow,
Telling still how Father John
Is so good to look upon
And such other grave affairs
As they thought of during prayers.

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My Chapel

In idle dream with pipe in hand
I looked across the Square,
And saw the little chapel stand
In eloquent despair.
A ruin of the War it was,
A dreary, dingy mess:
It worried me a lot because
My hobby's happiness.

The shabby Priest said: 'You are kind.
Time leaves us on the lurch,
And there are very few who mind
Their duty to the Church.
But with this precious sum you give,
I'll make it like a gem;
Poor folks will come, our altar live
To comfort them.'

So now my chapel of despair
Is full of joy and song;

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Wedding Bells Are Ringing

Wedding bells are ringing in the chapel,
and I’m falling in love again.
I am remembering all the good times,
when we were man and wife.
Remembering all the days before
you left me with this lonely, lonely life.

Now wedding bells are ringing,
out for someone new.
Let’s hope that they don’t follow
the same roads as me and you.
Those roads only lead to heartaches,
each mile along the way,
so let’s hope along those roads they don’t stray.

Wedding bells are ring in the chapel,
only I wish they were for me and you.
Then we would get another chance,
of trying to make our love run true,
learning from all the mistakes

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Oxford: Michaelmas

Christ Church meadow
is awash with driving rain
and a wind which bites the skin
and chills the blood within.
Its paths are sticky, yellow mud.
And the Cherwell, brown and dull,
slips ever higher.
Ducks, moorhens, squirrels
endure it.
As they endure frost and ice
and the teeth of pike,
the ill-will of dogs
and the harrassment of herons.

I retreat to Merton,
and the medieval silence
of its Tower.

Greeted by the bell,
I stand quite still in the chapel

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Teenage EMOTION on Loves Highway

Loves highway draws teenagers
....... on thru the night
.........Emotion lays heavy
.............in their hearts,
... held in the whirlpool
..........of their own love
‘Too Young’ whispers melodically
.. like ether on the air waves,
.......As Lightning strikes, .
.......thunder accentuates
.........the radio crackle,
Lashing rain draws the elopers
..........closer together,
.....Driving thru the night
.....in love struck earnest,
......The power of love
...envelopes their bodies,
....Nothing will appease
....their quest God sent
Onward over the hill on and on,

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