Hymns: Re-writing a Classic?

No I'm not (yet) posting about the whole 'do we up-date the words' debate (fearing the wrath of Ros, and thus waiting until she is safely in Westminster!).

Instead, I thought this might be considered mildly amusing - as written by one of my father's organists. (I should make it clear that I have never been in this choir - though the end of verse four isn't entirely without foundation!)

Immortal, impossible, God only knows,
How tenors and basses, sopranos, altos
At service on Sunday are rarely the same
As those, who on Wednesday to choir practice came.

Unready, unable to sight-read the notes
Nor counting, nor blending, they tighten their throats,
The descant so piercing is soaring above
The melody only a mother could love.

They have a director, but no-one knows why,
No one in the choir deigns to turn him an eye,
It's clear by his waving he wants them to look,
But each of them stands with his nose in the book.

Despite the offences, the music rings out,
The folks in the pews are enraptured, no doubt,
Their faces are blissful, their thoughts are so deep,
But it is no wonder, for they are asleep.