Читать книгу Poems of Adoration - Michael Field E. - Страница 5

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ON the night of dedication

Of Thyself as our oblation,

Christ, Belovèd, Thou didst take

In Thy very hands and break....

O my God, there is the hiss of doom

When new-glowing flowers are snapt in bloom;

When shivered, as a little thunder-cloud,

A vase splits on the floor its brilliance loud;

Or lightning strikes a willow-tree with gash

Cloven for death in a resounded crash;

And I have heard that one who could betray

His country and yet face the breadth of day,

Bowed himself, weeping, but to hear his sword

Broken before him, as his sin’s award.

These were broken; Thou didst break....

Thou the Flower that Heaven did make

Of our race the crown of light;

Thou the Vase of Chrysolite

Into which God’s balm doth flow;

Thou the Willow hung with woe

Of our exile harps; Thou Sword

Of the Everlasting Word—

Thou, betrayed, Thyself didst break

Thy own Body for our sake:

Thy own Body Thou didst take

In Thy holy hands—and break.