Blake wrote the words and Parry the tune
To that well-loved hymn we’ll be singing soon.
The story is strange, its meaning obscure
Whose feet are they? We’ll never be sure.

For Blake was a mystic, and some say a druid
An artist and poet, his talents were fluid.
We sing it now to remember when
Women weren’t as good as men,

Or so men thought, but we’re just as able
And that’s how “Jerusalem” comes into the fable.
Up in London at the time of the war
The first one, the great one, if wars ever are,

A group of ladies, society’s cream
Gathered to vote for their rights it would seem
And needing a song to give heart to their fight
Chose Blake’s rousing words to sing with all their might!

While down in the country poor women united
To grow food, make jam and in their way they fighted
The evils of war so their families survived
Helping their neighbours, their country, with pride.

And when they met to quilt and tattle
They wanted a song to give heart to their battle
And Blake’s “Jerusalem” seemed just right
To sing when they packed up for the night.

When Blake was a child he saw angels in trees,
In villages, churchyards, places like these.
And every year as our movement grows stronger,
More and more women sing his words and I wonder,

What Blake would make of the WI.
Are we like angels he saw in the sky,
Or ordinary women doing our best
To improve our lot like the suffragettes?

Dear Lord

So far today I am doing all right. I have not gossiped, lost my temper, been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish or self-indulgent. I have not whined, bitched, cursed or eaten chocolate. I have not charged on my credit card. However, I am going to get out of bed in a few minutes and I will need a lot more help after that please.

Amen.