azdak

The broad-backed hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.

Flesh-and-blood is weak and frail,
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.

The hippo's feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.

The 'potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach
Refresh the Church from over sea.

At mating time the hippo's voice
Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
But every week we hear rejoice
The Church, at being one with God.

The hippopotamus's day
Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
God works in a mysterious way --
The Church can sleep and feed at once.

I saw the 'potamus take wing
Ascending from the damp savannas,
And quiring angels round him sing
The praise of God, in loud hosannas.

Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
And him shall heavenly arms enfold,
Among the saints he shall be seen
Performing on a harp of gold.

He shall be washed as white as snow,
By all the martyr'd virgins kist,
While the True Church remains below
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.

T.S. Eliot

The end of the Wimseyfic is in sight - not close, but visible; at least if one uses field-glasses - and not so coincidentally I have been re-reading the Collected Works. In the course of which I discovered that a number of the quotations that I had so assiduously collected, polished and inserted like little jewels into my deathless prose, had already been used by bloody DLS. Looking on the bright side I suppose this can be seen as positive feedback, since it means I am at least getting the tone right, but it is nonetheless infuriating because I can no longer use the things myself without it looking as if had I copied them. And there a couple that were simply, absolutely perfect ::mourns quotations::