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