Poetry

Original Poem ~ A Hymn of Holiness

Hello everyone,

I am sorry I do not have a longer post today, but I still have something to share with you all. I have really gained a lot of confidence in my poetry by posting it on here. I was mostly too afraid to read it to people in the past. Having this platform has helped me tremendously and reminds me that we all have a voice and want to share what we create. A huge thank you to all my readers who have encouraged me to write on! 

I wrote this poem less than two weeks ago. It was inspired by a sermon my father preached on the holiness of God. I was reminded of the hymn Holy, Holy, Holy that was the first hymn within the New National Baptist Hymnal at my church and grandparent’s church. I have fond memories in my childhood  of following along as the congregation sang with these hymnal in everyone’s hands. I also remember flipping through its pages when the service seemed really long. But that hymnal left a huge impact on little me. 

I hope you enjoy my reminiscing and thoughts in the form of a poem! 

Words in italics are lyrics from the hymn

Also hymn is one of the best hangman words!!! 🙂

A Hymn of Holiness

Holy, Holy, Holy was the first hymn

In the New National Baptist Hymnal

Holy, holy, holy!

Lord God Almighty!

Early in the morning 

Our song shall rise to Thee

Cherubim and seraphim 

Were foreign

Casting down their golden crowns along the glassy sea

Did not make sense 

But the long services with

Those red books held in brown hands did

Clapping, organ, and voices of all kinds

Surround the yellow tinted sanctuary

Made sense

That hymn became a joke

If you sang it in a low tenor

With your chin

Touching your collarbone

But looking back

Whoever chose the order

Probably put that 

Solemn hymn upfront

Saying, “This is a holy book

Set apart

This book is for the purpose of singing to a holy God”

God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!

No clapping for this one

Not the common one

Not sung every other Sunday

This one is like the good china

The unattainable award

The best Sunday clothes

No longer a song to crack up about

No longer a song to sing with a voice like a bass toad

It is the first memory 

You have of how pure God is

That first song 

In that red book

At the time 

Just an alternative to boredom

Now it is seen as a stepping stone

Towards a understanding

Of what holiness is

~ Kenedy M. 

All images courtesy of Google images

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