THE MASTER He was hungry:
-Shall we not dine,- said He,
-On the good fruit amongst the leaves
Of this delightful tree?-
But oh! the fig-tree bore no fruit.
-Wither,- He bade it, -to the root,
For thus deceiving me.-
The Master He was hungry.
He plucked the grains so red
Of wheat that grew beside the way,
And He was bravely fed.
-For this,- He said, -I guerdon thee,
Through all the years, a type to be
Of Christ, the Living Bread.-
The Master He was thirsty.
He raised His hand on high,
And crushed the good red grapes that grew
The nearest to the sky.
-And as thou gavest me drink of thine,
So must I pour my blood, O Vine,
When I for man shall die.-
The Master He was passing
From men He held so dear.
The feast with bread and wine was made;
The Friday Cross was near.
-Droop not!- He spoke, and blessed their food:
-The broken Body and the Blood
Sustain you year by year.-
And corn and wine thenceforth have stood
His symbols everywhere.
The Blessing
Mary Colborne-veel
(1)
Poem topics: food, sky, dear, thirsty, broken, sustain, friday, drink, high, body, thine, red, tree, I love you, I miss you, good, fruit, bread, year, hungry, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about The Blessing poem by Mary Colborne-veel
Best Poems of Mary Colborne-veel