There's a rush in the kitchen, there's monks in the hall It's past time for dinner, they're silent monks all The cook is a good man with ladle and plate He will not be rushed in the steam and the heat Though a simple man, he just seemed to know As it is above, so it is below
He hums to himself all the hymns he has known While he pulls up the leeks, they're so carefully grown He doesn't like chapel bent down on his knees Just wasting his time with these words and decrees.
He does all his work in the presence of the Lord He is praying while salting the monks' holy food He fights the good fight with utensils as a sword He is peeling potatoes to the glory of God
