When Christ Came Down at Harrod’s
When Christ came down at Harrod’s
Christmas lights shone in Knightsbridge,
Shone through filthy December.
No trace of Advent homage
In the Wedgwood calendar
To the mild Style Outsider
Shunned by shoppers seeking the
Decadence Christmas hamper.
When Christ came to Oxford Street
He chafed for the multitude
Bearing gifts of gold, frankin
cense and murder, birth and rood
Oblivious, driven from mall
To market across the land,
Ears scourged by Slade’s annual
Anthem to anti-climax, canned
Searing High Street rival to
The Salvation Army sound,
A few coppers collected,
But keep your eyes to the ground.
“Come, come, come, sun of justice,
Splendour of eternal light.”
Dispel the shadow of death.
Listen in the Woodside night.
“The radiant dawn hath shone
On those who dwell in darkness,”
Yet you hasten on unheeding
To a feasting without Mass,
To a Christmas without Christ.
“Ah! A manic street preacher”
Laugh passers-by. “Well, I’ll be …….”
Well, indeed, you may ponder.
Acknowledgement to O Oriens (O Antiphon)