Original subtitles

"Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean?

"Not one.

"Seeing his days are determined,

"the number of his months are with thee,

"thou hast appointed his bounds

"that he cannot pass.

"Turn from him that he may rest

"till he shall accomplish, as an hireling...

"his day. "

Thank you.

What was our other favourite?

We have so many.

What saith the preacher?

"Vanity...

"of vanities.

"All is vanity.

"What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun?

"One generation passeth away

"and another cometh... "

Is it wicked of me to say that God is unfair?

He's supposed to forgive wickedness.

Very well. God is unfair.

Unfair to let the bishop live for 80 years,

and take your husband and my brother after less than 30.

No, you're quite wrong, Mary.

Only a generous and a bountiful God would give me a child like this one.

God didn't give you the child, John gave you the child.

And I'm not sure John believed in God in any case.

This is your father's grave.

He was called John like you.

He was a doctor.

And he caught a fever from one of his patients who was too poor to pay him.

Like all his patients.

He didn't believe in God.

But he believed in you

and in me

and in himself.

And according to my father, that means he believed in God.

"... but the earth, abideth forever. "

Shall I leave you now?

I think it would be sensible.

Tell everybody I'm sorry to keep them waiting.

Waiting?

You know perfectly well what I mean.

There are so many things...

I want to find out.

God bless you, warden.

Sir, I am no longer the warden.

Would you argue a technicality with a dying man, hm?

God bless you...

Bishop.

How is he?

Peaceful.

Do you think... do you think it'll be long?

Only God can answer that question.

Oh, I will not be sitting here.

I think the bishop would be delighted to see you sitting there.

I see no problem.

When the bishop dies, Dr Grantly will succeed him. What could be simpler?

The bishop is appointed by the prime minister.

Yes, I think I knew that.

Apparently the present government is expected to fall at any moment.

And the prime minister will resign.

Precisely.

And it appears that the leader of the opposition...

does not like Dr Grantly.

Now I understand.

I like Dr Grantly, though I can understand some people not liking him.

But frankly I am surprised that prime ministers even care.

They're all men. Men care about very peculiar things.

That's true.

Come on, darling. Come on.

There!

But just a minute, that means...

if Dr Grantly really does want to be the new bishop...

And he does.

Then that also means that he must want his father to die...

quite quickly.

How is he?

Oh, he's still...

still peaceful.

Good.

We could pray.

There are times when I'm ashamed of my prayers.

Your father would understand.

How I wish that I were as pure in heart.

You must go to the railway station.

- To the railway station? - The railway station! Directly.

This message... it must be sent by electric telegraph to the prime minister.

Do we know who is the prime minister?

No, I have not seen The Jupiter as...

The Jupiter!

I doubt whether the prime minister himself will know the exact situation

until he reads his instructions from the...

"The bishop of Barchester is dead... "

But you put my name on it.

Who better than so old a friend as yourself?

The prime minister won't look at the name, you can be sure of that.

I'll go immediately.

- Oh, warden... - Archdeacon?

You'll need half a crown.

Owe it to me, son-in-law.

He was too late.

Who was?

- The old bishop. - Oh.

Too late in his dying.

Everybody's too late.

Or too early in their dying, seems to me.

We got a new prime minister now, see?

He's appointed his own man as bishop.

Dr Grantly not got the job, then?

No, he has not.

Good!

I never did like that Grantly.

Better the devil you know...

They chose a worse devil than Grantly?

Dr Proudie.

God bless you.

So this is our palace.

- This is our palace. - The place is falling to pieces.

- Is it? - Of course it is.

And no doubt the interior is even worse.

I shall speak to Mr Slope.

- Slope? - Mm.

The bishop's chaplain, Obadiah Slope.

Obadiah.

Obadiah Slope?!

Poor man!

I suppose his name isn't his fault.

- It might be. - How can his name be his fault?

Oh...

Eleanor, whatever is the matter?

Well, the gossip is he changed it.

Apparently he was born Obadiah...

Slop.

- And he added the E. - Yes!

This is my chaplain, Mr Slope.

- Dr Grantly. - Oh, yes, Mr Slope.

Archdeacon, this is a very great privilege.

The bishop is so looking forward to the assistance you'll be able to give him.

I shall do my best, of course.

- And this is Mr...? - Harding.

Harding, of course. Precentor in the cathedral.

- And some parish duty as well. - Yes, St Cuthbert's.

Delightful little church, charming parish.

Do you reside in Barchester, Dr Grantly?

Oh no, no, no. My wife and I live at Plumstead, which is a few miles outside.

I hope the distance is not too far for country visiting?

No, well, of course we'd be delighted...

We should take the earliest opportunity after my horses arrive at Barchester.

- Of course. - My horses are not immediately coming

as the bishop has to return to London.

I understand...

The bishop is on important committees. The University Improvement Committee,

and the Manufacturing Town Morning and Evening Sunday School Society,

- whose final report is due any day. - So I believe...

Consequently, you will understand the difficulty regarding my horses.

Entirely, Mrs Proudie.

But, rest assured, as soon as my horses arrive at Barchester,

the bishop and I will visit you in...

in, er, your delightful parish.

Well, we shall look forward to your visiting us at...

Plumstead, Mrs Proudie.

Speaking of Sunday schools...

Are the arrangements for Sabbath day schools

generally good in your archdeaconry?

Sabbath day schools? The arrangements?

What do you think, Mr Harding?

Um... Upon my soul, I can't say.

It's usually left to the parson's wife and daughters.

- Nothing formal at, er... - At Plumstead, no.

Susan, your wife... has a very nice little informal school.

Yes, very nice, but informal... Mr Slope.

I see.

I think the bishop is also concerned about the travelling.

About the travelling, my lord?

- Travelling? - The Sabbath day.

There appears to be a great deal of travelling on the Sabbath.

According to Bradshaw, three trains in and three out.

Oh, railway travelling, my lord.

Um, I think a number of people

use the railway trains to attend the cathedral services.

- And to hear Mr Harding's music. - Oh, no.

Can they not walk, the people of Barchester? They have good legs.

Six trains a day on the Sabbath?

Could nothing be done to induce the company withdraw them?

Not being a director, I can't really say.

Don't you think a little energy... might diminish the evil?

Withdrawing the passengers will stop the trains.

- It's a question of dividends. - We should look at it differently.

You and I, Dr Grantly, surely.

Surely we must do all we can to control so grievous a sin.

Don't you agree, Mr Harding?

I, uh...

I think all railway porters, stokers and guards,

linesmen and pointsmen

should have the time and the opportunity to go to church.

And I trust and believe that they do have.

Surely... Surely that is not enough!

Surely that will not secure such an observance of the Sabbath

as we are taught to believe is not only expedient but indispensable.

Surely!

Perhaps we might save the doctrinal debate

for more formal occasion, Bishop.

Do the repairs that we've carried out meet with your wishes?

- Yes, on the whole... - Splendid.

But there is one point I should like to mention, Mr Archdeacon.

The bishop feels, and I have to confess I agree with him,

that the stalls in the second stable are not perfect.

Why, my lord, there's standing for a dozen horses.

No doubt, but visitors often require so much extra accommodation.

We have so many friends in London and relatives

who always bring their own horses.

And there is hardly room for a second carriage in the large coach house

and the smaller one holds only one.

I shall speak to the architect tomorrow.

Also mention the gas and hot water.

The garden wall requires urgent attention.

There is a hole in the kitchen, clearly the work of rats.

And the bishop is unhappy about the locks.

Locks?!

Specific locks or all locks in general?

Merely one or two of the locks on the outhouses...

On the coalhouse, the woodhouse and on the servants' bedrooms.

The locks throughout the entire building leave much to be desired.

A great deal depends upon a lock but equally so, er... er...

upon the key!

I always think the fault, if fault may be, frequently lies with...

with the... with the key, er...

er... er... rather than the lock.

- The bishop is also concerned... - Let me be honest...

If I may?

I initially enquired as to the comfort of the palace as a matter of courtesy but...

as there's been such a catalogue of apparent faults,

I can only apologise that so many things are amiss

and suggest you take up the matter with the diocesan architect.

The bishop intends to do so, Archdeacon.

Good heavens.

Good heavens.

I don't think I shall ever like that Mr Slope.

Like him?!

Like him?

Nor Mrs Proudie either.

I would deeply shock you if I were to use the word...

nay, the words which come to mind when attempting to define Mrs Proudie.

The bishop seems a quiet enough man.

He has no choice. But an idiot, I suspect.

He says so little, it's difficult to ascertain.

He has the reputation of being a clever man, yet he seems cautious.

Not inclined to express himself freely.

The reasons are obvious enough, the man is a puppet.

Well, no matter.

Let the queen make whom she may bishop of Barchester.

The real adversary is Slope!

You see him as an adversary, then?

If I ignore the challenge, he'll have the whole diocese under his heel.

I suspect the bishop will exert his authority in time.

He's the most thoroughly bestial creature ever I set my eyes upon.

The bishop?

No! Slope!

Of course.

Have you considered my other suggestion, Bishop?

Which suggestion do you refer to, Mr Slope?

Mr Slope considers, and I totally agree with him,

that he should preach the sermon in the cathedral the Sunday after next.

And, er...

y- you agree, my dear?

Totally.

Yes, well, it, er, seems, er, an excellent idea.

Tell me, who would normally preach the sermon on that day if you did not?

The canon in residence, Dr Vesey Stanhope.

- And is he agreeable? - He is not here.

The canon in residence is not in residence.

I understand he is in Italy.

- Italy? - On the banks of Lake Como.

Whatever is a canon in residence doing on the banks of Lake Como?

Apparently he collects butterflies.

I cannot imagine the bishop looking kindly upon a canon in residence

who spends his time collecting butterflies.

Especially Italian butterflies.

Uh, I... I shall write to him.

You will order his immediate return to his duties.

- How long has he been there? - 12 years.

- 12 years?! - He went originally on health grounds.

- What was wrong with his health? - He had a persistent sore throat.

Perhaps when I write to Dr Stanhope

I should enquire about his health, acertain whether he is fully recovered.

I think tell him he is fully recovered.

But clearly Dr Stanhope will not be in England by a week on Sunday.

He won't have received my letter by then.

We are well aware of the sluggish nature of the postal service.

I- I'm simply indicating, my dear, that it might be a good idea if... if...

you, Mr Slope, were to preach the sermon

a week on Sunday as you suggested.

I should deem it a great honour.

Perhaps you will bring Barchester to its senses.

Make known His doings

Among the peoples

Sing unto him

Sing praises

Unto him

I have chosen as my text...

a verse from the precepts addressed by St Paul to Timothy...

as to the conduct necessary in a good spiritual guide and pastor.

St Paul tells Timothy, as he tells all of us...

"Study to show thyself approved unto God,

"a workman that needeth not to be ashamed,

"rightly dividing the word of truth. "

I stand here as a very humble chaplain...

seeking only to serve the needs of my bishop and win his approval.

And yet as I stand here,

I also see myself in the vision of St Paul,

as a workman,

rightly dividing the truth in such a way as to meet with the approval of God.

But how are we to divide the word of truth?

What is the word of truth?

How do we know which is God's truth and which is a false truth?

We've just listened to some splendid music.

And indeed, many of us joined in that selfsame music,

and no doubt many of you heard in that music God's truth.

Certainly we were in the presence of beauty,

of that there is no question.

But God's truth...

I wonder a little.

Is there not a danger that the outward ceremonies

become more important than the inner meaning?

That the wonderful music and fine singing

tend to obscure rather than illuminate the word of God?

I do not make dogmatic statements but simply,

and with great humility, put the question...

are we in danger of losing sight of the truth?

In the Middle Ages, to be sure,

the religion of the multitude was an affair of the imagination.

The word of God was adorned with melody,

with pretty pictures, even with magical properties,

but this is not the Middle Ages and we are not illiterate peasants.

This is the age of reason, the 19th century,

when the achievements of our great scientists and engineers

place wonders in our midst

that our ancestors would have looked upon as miracles.

But our scientists and our engineers do not make miracles,

they apply reason and logic.

And it is my humble belief...

that the 19th century Christian must approach his faith in the same way.

We must not only believe but digest.

We must not only hear but we must understand.

Consider the words of our morning service.

How apposite, how intelligible, how reasonable.

But most of all when they are read with simple and distinct decorum...

is not that meaning lost

when those simple reasonable words are obscured

with melody and descant, chorus and incantation?

"In the beginning was the Word.

"And the Word was with God.

"And the Word was God. "

The word.

Not music, not incantation,

not meretricious melody.

God is the Word!

And the Word is God!

That... That creature!

Morning.

A mere chaplain preaching in our cathedral!

A deliberate insult.

And what can one expect from someone raked out from...

from the gutters of Marylebone?

What are you going to do about him, Archdeacon?

- Good morning. - I shall destroy him.

But how?

I haven't yet decided.

If there is no music...

there is no mystery.

If there is no mystery...

there is no God.

If there is no mystery...

there is no faith.

Or have I lived for 60 years on a misunderstanding?

No, you have not, Father.

And we will do something about Mr Slope.

Must we always do something about people?

Can't we ever leave them alone?

Excellent, Mr Slope.

It was humble but sincere.

The bishop was delighted.

Yes, very pleasing. I do wonder whether...

Yes?

No, no, it was extremely pleasing.

I fear Dr Grantly was quite right.

Mr Slope is the new bishop.

Hm.

Why do you say that, Father?

The Proudies have gone to London...

for the season.

And to bring back Mrs Proudie's horses.

They've left Mr Slope in control of the diocese.

He seems to enjoy it.

What? Is... is something wrong?

- Mary will tell you. - Mary will not!

This is your house, Eleanor. The letter was to you.

House, er... Letter?

I don't understand.

Father, Mr Slope is paying us a visit.

This afternoon.

Slope...

Oh. Here.

He wrote a very polite letter to Eleanor,

saying he would like to meet both of us,

as part of his plan to get to know the people of Barchester.

And you agreed?

It is difficult to say, "No, you may not enter my house. "

He must be given the benefit of the doubt. For the moment, anyway.

I decided that my father would do that.

What time is he expected?

Quite soon.

I hoped you might stay.

Yours... is a very proper attitude, my dears.

But I'm afraid I am not yet ready to share it.

The man cannot hear my music,

so by the same token...

I cannot hear his word.

I have looked forward to this meeting since first I arrived in Barchester.

I am a most fervent admirer of your father and his work in the diocese.

Including his music?

Especially his music, Mrs Bold.

Really?

I think... I know what you're thinking.

- Do you? - You're thinking...

how can I profess admiration for your father's music

having apparently condemned such music from the pulpit?

With respect, the thought crossed my mind, Mr Slope.

Mrs Bold.

My criticism - if, indeed, it was criticism -

was intended in... a constructive sense.

To correct some of the general tendencies in our forms of worship.

But where such criticism is concerned, if indeed it was criticism,

your father and his music

are a glorious exception.

I shall convey your sentiments to him.

I would appreciate that.

What a pity he can't be with us.

Be assured, Mr Slope, that only the most pressing of engagements

- would have prompted his departure. - Of course.

Would you give him another message from me?

- By all means. - It is quite possible

that the new bishop will invite your father

to resume his old situation as warden of Hiram's Hospital.

Oh...

Go back to the hospital?

Oh, that would be wonderful.

I can give no guarantees...

I shall certainly tell him the good news.

Did you hear that, darling? Oh, look...

And this is your child, Mrs Bold.

This is John Bold Junior, yes.

Truly...

This is the most beautiful and exquisite sight I have beheld

since I arrived in Barchester.

The Lord's blessing be upon you, my child.

May your innocence and purity flourish,

and may you always give thanks to God for the wondrous grace...

and tenderness...

of your mother.

It seems a remarkable coincidence

that you should return minutes after Mr Slope's departure.

Not at all a coincidence, my dear.

I walked up and down at a safe distance

until I was quite sure he had gone.

It seems an awful lot of trouble to go to, Father.

I would do the same thing for Mr Slope any time.

I would even do it for Mrs Proudie... but for nobody else.

He was most disappointed you were not here.

Really?

He greatly admires you. And your music.

But not in church.

He also admires your daughter.

- Mary! - Your wondrous grace and tenderness.

Whatever has he been saying to you?

He said... that you might be asked to go back to be warden of Hiram's Hospital.

- He said that? - That is why he was so disappointed.

The bishop is in London.

Whatever do you mean?

When the cat's away...

He was very sincere, Mr Harding.

And he was quite insistent that you should talk with him on the subject.

I probably know a great deal more about the hospital than does Mr Slope.

I know, for instance, that legislation is going through parliament

whereby a warden will be appointed at a new annual income of L450.

Instead of the present one... of 800.

I also know that a new wing is to be built,

so that the hospital will accommodate 12 old women and a matron,

in addition to the old men.

Could you manage the old women, Mr Harding?

The matron will manage the old women.

Who will manage the matron?

I imagine she will be very resourceful - well able to manage herself.

It would be wonderful for you to go back.

Nothing would give me greater delight and purpose

than to return to my old home and garden

and my dear, dear old friends.

But the decision is the bishop's, not Mr Slope's.

And I categorically refuse to go to the palace and discuss the matter with him.

I can only report that his words to us on the subject

were clear and very straightforward.

He would like to discuss the situation with you.

My dear, I have listened to Obadiah Slope.

More important, I have listened to the music of his soul

and I found the melody somewhat tasteless.

You must consider the possibility that you misunderstand him.

Yes. And you must consider the possibility that I understand him...

totally!

And that is why...

I prefer to wait upon the bishop...

and his decision.

Which, I suppose, means Mrs Proudie's decision.

Good heavens!

Archdeacon, you don't usually say "good heavens" this early. Do you?

The bishop is holding a supper reception. We're invited.

We must organise a prior engagement as quickly as possible.

Yes, I'd rather not give Mrs Proudie an excuse to take umbrage, my dear.

And I would rather not spend time in the company of that unspeakable woman

and the bestial Mr Slope.

Isn't your terminology a little harsh, my dear?

That is your terminology, Archdeacon, not mine.

- Do I use those words? - You do.

Hm. Then I suppose they must be apt.

- Good heavens! - Again?

- The Stanhopes are returning from Italy. - Really?

"I have been ordered to return to Barchester by your new bishop.

"It appears the only alternatives would be... "

"... penal servitude for life...

"... b- boiling in oil...

"or an eternity of listening to my own sermons. "

Well, this could change my attitude.

Which attitude do you mean, Archdeacon?

My attitude to the reception.

You see, according to my calculations,

the Stanhopes should be in Barchester in time to attend the bishop's reception.

Your guests will arrive at ten. You will receive them at the door.

We will discreetly direct the curates, country vicars and lesser clergy

into the adjacent reception room.

I trust they will not be drinking the same wine as our most important guests?

No, I obtained some quite acceptable Marsala for our supplementary visitors.

- How much did you pay? - 20 shillings per dozen bottles.

That is very reasonable.

I persuaded the merchant to make them baker's dozens.

Splendid, Mr Slope.

Please do not sit on that sofa, Bishop!

Is there something wrong with it?

I have been asked officially, and as a matter of extreme urgency,

to respectfully request that nobody sits on this sofa.

It is reserved and to be kept free.

Free?! For whom?

La Signora Madeline Visey Neroni.

What is so special about this lady...

apart from her extraordinary name?

She is unable to walk, Mrs Proudie.

Dr Visey Stanhope, prebendary of Barchester, rector of Crabtree,

and Mrs Stanhope.

Mrs Stanhope, good evening. Mrs Proudie.

Mrs Proudie...

- Mr Stanhope, welcome to England. - Our pleasure, Bishop.

Or such is my hope.

And how is your husband's throat, Mrs Stanhope?

His throat?

I've always considered it exceedingly handsome.

- How is your throat, dear? - Oh, intact, I believe, my dear.

Why, there's the Grantlys!

- Delighted to talk to you, Bishop. - And Susan.

I suppose that is an example of Italian manners.

Sir Peregrine and Lady Buffington.

- How are your children? - They're fine.

We're really rather proud of them.

How are yours?

Absolutely hideous.

Have you seen the Proudie girls?

- There are children? - Yes.

Over there.

Curious perhaps, but not hideous.

Come and meet Papa.

Oh, there they are.

The one thought that made my journey from Italy tolerable

was that I should see my old friend Septimus Harding.

- Oh! - Our best friend in the whole world.

- Oh, hear! Hear. - It's always good to see old friends.

They're so much more amusing than one's family.

- Oh, Mr Harding! - Mary, I'll introduce you.

Tell me, Grantly, what is this extraordinary notion

that seems to be gathering strength within the Church of England?

To which notion are you referring?

Well, this notion that we should work for the money the Church pays us.

Francis and Lady Thornton.

Would you mind not sitting on that sofa? Thank you so much.

La Signora Madeline Visey Neroni, and her retinue.

Se la lasci cadere devi raccorglierla tu.

- There is a sofa. - Ah, thank you, avanti.

Could I ask you to...? Thank you.

Ah, Guiseppe, laggi�, si, la.

Here we are. Over here.

Va bene, la.

My children. I told you they were hideous.

Wonderful! Perfection!

- Bishop of Barchester, I presume? - Yes, delighted.

Bertie Stanhope. My sisters Charlotte and Madeline. Sorry about all the trouble.

- She's such a bore with her legs. - Not at all.

- Are you comfortable, my dear? - Magnificently so, thank you.

I can almost forget the burden of my disability.

We can easily move the sofa, if you wish.

Well, perhaps a fraction. To the left might be desirable.

- A fraction to the left, Bertie. - A fraction to the left, it shall be.

- Are you any good at fractions, Mr...? - Slope.

Come along then, Slope.

We'll soon manage this fraction between us.

Take the strain now. Hup!

No, that hardly qualifies as a fraction.

More muscle, Slope. One, two, three.

Do forgive me, madam.

I quite understand your difficulty, young man.

Idiot!

Idiot, indeed.

Let me assist, madam.

Unhand it, sir.

I'll fly to the looms of the fairies to repair it, if only you'll forgive me.

Unhand it, sir!

My hands are without guilt.

It's the wicked sofa.

Madam.

Idiot, do get up.

Oh, Charlotte!

Mrs Proudie will never forgive us.

And are you enjoying being Bishop of Barchester?

Well, er, er...

on the whole, very much indeed.

Is there much to do... here in Barchester?

The work of a bishop of the Church of England is not easy.

The responsibility he has to bear is very great indeed.

Is it? I once had thoughts of becoming a bishop myself.

- Really? - Do be quiet, Bertie. I want the bishop.

Come along.

I very rarely bite.

Poor Madeline.

She met this dreadful Italian scamp called Paolo Neroni.

Insisted on marrying him.

They went off to Rome

and she came back a year later with a baby and crippled.

What happened to her?

Well, she says, and you must bear in mind, Susan,

that all my children are compulsive liars,

she says she had a bad fall from an ancient Roman monument.

Is that... really little Madeline?

I fear so.

And now you know my sad story,

- may I crave one more favour? - Certainly.

Well, as a result of my sad story,

I have a permanent disability... and a daughter.

- W-What is the young lady's age? - She is just seven.

The last bud of a wondrous tree.

The blood of Tiberius flows in her veins.

She's the last of the Neros.

Will you see her? Oh, let her mother hope that you will lay your holy...

hands upon her innocent head

and consecrate her for her female virtues.

May I hope it?

Of course.

Bishop?

Your presence is urgently required.

Where, my dear?

Elsewhere.

That's settled. You must visit us while we are in Barchester.

- We shall enjoy that very much. - Indeed, yes.

It will help to keep our families sane.

Except in Bertie's case, of course.

Mrs Proudie! Excuse me.

A vision!

I beg your pardon?

Your dress! It's even more beautiful than the first.

The fairies at the looms have surpassed themselves.

- Get out of my way. - Of course, yes.

Charming lady.

Oh, Mr Harding.

My lord, are you enjoying your evening?

Mildly.

Mr Harding, I wanted a word with you about the hospital.

The position of warden needs to be filled again

and I wondered what your thoughts on the subject were.

They are very simply put.

I would accept the position if it were offered to me

and put up with the want of it should another man get it.

I am delighted to hear it.

Perhaps you could discuss the matter with Mr Slope?

- With Mr Slope? - He has, I know,

given it a good deal of his attention.

- Oh, excuse me. - What?

Do you know, Mr Slope, that in coming to England my one consolation

has been the thought that I might meet someone as sensitive as you?

I am deeply moved by your sentiment... signora.

And now you know my sad story, may I crave one more favour?

No, madam, you may not.

Mr Slope is required immediately elsewhere.

Is she always like this?

Yes, always, madam. Always the same.

Always equally adverse to impropriety of conduct of every description.

What were you doing waiting on that painted jezebel?

She's lame, Mrs Proudie. She requires spiritual support.

Lame?! I'd lame her if she belonged to me!

Are you not enjoying the bishop's party?

I was remembering coming here to visit the old bishop.

God rest his soul.

We used to play a game,

we would hold a conversation entirely in quotations from the Bible.

- Who used to win? - Neither of us tried to win.

The Bible always won.

But the signal that the game was over was this - the bishop would say,

"What saith the preacher?"

And I would say...

"Vanity of vanities...

"All is vanity. "

O, be joyful in the Lord

All ye lands

Serve the Lord with gladness

And come before His presence with a song

Be sure that the Lord, He is God

It is He that hath made us

And not we ourselves

We are His people

And the sheep of His pasture

O, go your way into His gates with thanksgiving

And into His courts with praise

Be thankful unto Him

And speak good of His name

For the Lord is gracious

His mercy is everlasting

And His truth endureth

From generation

To generation