![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ancientandmodernAnd did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England’s mountains green?
And was the Holy Lamb of God
On England’s pleasant pastures seen?
And did the countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England’s green and pleasant land.
On Friday morning, as the crowds gathered within and without Westminster Abbey, I was struggling up Box Hill, just north of Dorking, where the slope is so steep that the contour lines blur into a brown smudge. Box Hill, Colley Hill, Reigate Hill. England's mountains green.
And the view from the top is worth the pain in the hip and the tightness in the chest. Surrey and Sussex, fading into the haze. Oh, yes, Surrey and Sussex, the most affluent counties in the country. Surrey and Sussex, where they sing this and believe the words...
Wait.
And did those feet in ancient time walk upon England's mountains green? Legend says so: that the young Jesus was brought to England by Joseph of Arimathea. Those feet - those feet upon the mountains that bring good news.
And was the holy Lamb of God in England's pleasant pastures seen? How to overlay the spiritual geography of the Holy Land onto the physical one that Blake knew? Imagine a real lamb in a real pasture?
And did the countenance divine shine forth upon our clouded hills? And, if so, why isn't it now? Or is it?
And was Jerusalem builded here among these dark satanic mills?
And the answer to that question is, 'no'. For all that this hymn gets wheeled out for the rugby and the Last Night of the Proms, wrapped up in Union Jacks, you know and I know, Blake knew and Parry knew, that England as she is now is no holy city. The beauty of the Malverns and the Chilterns can make you catch your breath - but beyond the skyline, you know, is a place where people work long hours for low pay and little satisfaction, where children grow up with no hope, where generations have come and gone since Blake protested the corruption of wealth, but the trials are the same.
And this is how I sing it. I sing of a country that I love because it is mine, but that drives me to distraction for all that it could be and all that it is not.
Bring me my bow of burning gold. Bring me my arrows of desire.
There is a huge chasm between England as she is, and England as she could be. There is work to do. Could we build the new Jerusalem? No, of course not - but we could get a lot closer than we are at the moment.
I shall not cease from mental fight, nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, till we have built Jerusalem in England's green and pleasant land.
Walk upon England’s mountains green?
And was the Holy Lamb of God
On England’s pleasant pastures seen?
And did the countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England’s green and pleasant land.
On Friday morning, as the crowds gathered within and without Westminster Abbey, I was struggling up Box Hill, just north of Dorking, where the slope is so steep that the contour lines blur into a brown smudge. Box Hill, Colley Hill, Reigate Hill. England's mountains green.
And the view from the top is worth the pain in the hip and the tightness in the chest. Surrey and Sussex, fading into the haze. Oh, yes, Surrey and Sussex, the most affluent counties in the country. Surrey and Sussex, where they sing this and believe the words...
Wait.
And did those feet in ancient time walk upon England's mountains green? Legend says so: that the young Jesus was brought to England by Joseph of Arimathea. Those feet - those feet upon the mountains that bring good news.
And was the holy Lamb of God in England's pleasant pastures seen? How to overlay the spiritual geography of the Holy Land onto the physical one that Blake knew? Imagine a real lamb in a real pasture?
And did the countenance divine shine forth upon our clouded hills? And, if so, why isn't it now? Or is it?
And was Jerusalem builded here among these dark satanic mills?
And the answer to that question is, 'no'. For all that this hymn gets wheeled out for the rugby and the Last Night of the Proms, wrapped up in Union Jacks, you know and I know, Blake knew and Parry knew, that England as she is now is no holy city. The beauty of the Malverns and the Chilterns can make you catch your breath - but beyond the skyline, you know, is a place where people work long hours for low pay and little satisfaction, where children grow up with no hope, where generations have come and gone since Blake protested the corruption of wealth, but the trials are the same.
And this is how I sing it. I sing of a country that I love because it is mine, but that drives me to distraction for all that it could be and all that it is not.
Bring me my bow of burning gold. Bring me my arrows of desire.
There is a huge chasm between England as she is, and England as she could be. There is work to do. Could we build the new Jerusalem? No, of course not - but we could get a lot closer than we are at the moment.
I shall not cease from mental fight, nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, till we have built Jerusalem in England's green and pleasant land.