We have it.
Some of us are hiding from it.
We are ready for it.
We have a fire in it.
All is calm, all is bright — here. God help and succour the refugees sheltering in the Calais woods, the lives scourged by war, the increasing numbers of homeless poor driven into destitution by bad political governance.
Now, Lord, send them some summer, some manner of joy,
Heaven after hence-going, that here have such default!
And have pity on the rich that relieve no prisoners
From the good things you hast given, the ungrateful many;
But, God, in thy goodness, give them grace to amend.
But poor people, thy prisoners, Lord, in the pit of mischief,
Comfort those creatures that suffer many cares,
Through dearth or drought, all their days here,
Woe in winter-time, for want of clothing,
And in summer-time, seldom a full supper.
Comfort thy care-stricken, Christ, in thy kingdom.
(from Piers Plowman)