Hallelujah
'Hallelujah' by Martyn Kelly
A meditation on Christmas, set to the metre of the late Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’
There is a story very old
about some shepherds in the cold
who say they saw an angelic host before them.
The angels told them of a birth
that God had come to visit Earth
then their choir started singing ‘Hallelujah’.
And the story then goes on to say
that wise men came to pass that way
for they wanted to kneel down before the king.
They brought him gifts which symbolised
the way that he would live and die
while his baffled mother whispered ‘Hallelujah’.
Now the trees are bare and the sky is grey
and streets are crowded every day
as everyone prepares for celebrations.
But the cold is seeping to my bones
and in the crowds I feel alone;
no-one here is singing ‘Hallelujah’.
Windows seem to beckon me
to spend my money lavishly,
the treadmill of Epiphany grinds on.
Piped carols seem to follow me,
old Christmas hits trill merrily
but my soul can’t rise to sing ‘Hallelujah’.
December is the cruellest month:
we are all hunters and we hunt
for something that is always just out of reach.
Perhaps I’ll flex my credit card,
forego the mystery of that stable yard
and summon up an ersatz ‘Hallelujah’.
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