The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems of Adoration
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Poems of Adoration
Author: Michael Field
Release date: January 1, 2020 [eBook #61070]
Most recently updated: October 17, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF ADORATION ***
POEMS OF ADORATION
POEMS OF ADORATION
BY
MICHAEL FIELD
SANDS & CO. LONDON & EDINBURGH
CONTENTS
POEMS OF ADORATION
DESOLATION
WHO comes?...
O Beautiful!
Low thunder thrums,
As if a chorus struck its shawms and drums.
The sun runs forth
To stare at Him, who journeys north
From Edom, from the lonely sands, arrayed
In vesture sanguine as at Bosra made.
O beautiful and whole,
In that red stole!
O Beautiful!
Low thunder thrums,
As if a chorus struck its shawms and drums.
The sun runs forth
To stare at Him, who journeys north
From Edom, from the lonely sands, arrayed
In vesture sanguine as at Bosra made.
O beautiful and whole,
In that red stole!
Behold,
O clustered grapes,
His garment rolled,
And wrung about His waist in fold on fold!
See, there is blood
Now on His garment, vest and hood;
For He hath leapt upon a loaded vat,
And round His motion splashes the wine-fat,
Though there is none to play
The Vintage-lay.
O clustered grapes,
His garment rolled,
And wrung about His waist in fold on fold!
See, there is blood
Now on His garment, vest and hood;
For He hath leapt upon a loaded vat,
And round His motion splashes the wine-fat,
Though there is none to play
The Vintage-lay.
The Word
Of God, His name ...
But nothing heard
Save beat of His lone feet forever stirred
To tread the press—
None with Him in His loneliness;
No treader with Him in the spume, no man.
His flesh shows dusk with wine: since He began
He hath not stayed, that forth may pour
The Vineyard’s store.
Of God, His name ...
But nothing heard
Save beat of His lone feet forever stirred
To tread the press—
None with Him in His loneliness;
No treader with Him in the spume, no man.
His flesh shows dusk with wine: since He began
He hath not stayed, that forth may pour
The Vineyard’s store.
He treads
The angry grapes ...
Their anger spreads,
And all its brangling passion sheds
In blood. O God,
Thy wrath, Thy wine-press He hath trod—
The fume, the carnage, and the murderous heat!
Yet all is changed by patience of the feet:
The blood sinks down; the vine
Is issued wine.
The angry grapes ...
Their anger spreads,
And all its brangling passion sheds
In blood. O God,
Thy wrath, Thy wine-press He hath trod—
The fume, the carnage, and the murderous heat!
Yet all is changed by patience of the feet:
The blood sinks down; the vine
Is issued wine.
ENTBEHREN SOLLST DU
’Neath the Garden of Gethsemane’s
Olive-wood,
Thou didst cast Thy will away from Thee
In Thy blood.
Olive-wood,
Thou didst cast Thy will away from Thee
In Thy blood.
Through the shade, when torches spat their light,
And arms shone,
Thou didst find Thy lovers and Thy friends
Were all gone.
And arms shone,
Thou didst find Thy lovers and Thy friends
Were all gone.
In the Judgment Hall, Thy hands and feet
Bound with cord,
Thou didst lose Thy freedom’s sweetness—all
Thy freedom, Lord.
Bound with cord,
Thou didst lose Thy freedom’s sweetness—all
Thy freedom, Lord.
In the Soldiers’ Hall, Thy Sovereignty
Laughed to naught,
Thou wert scourged, Thy brow by bramble-wreath
Sharply caught.
Laughed to naught,
Thou wert scourged, Thy brow by bramble-wreath
Sharply caught.
Stripped of vest and garments Thou didst lie,
Mid hill-moss,
Naked, helpless as a nurse’s child,
On Thy cross.
Mid hill-moss,
Naked, helpless as a nurse’s child,
On Thy cross.
Raised, Thou gavest to another son,
Standing by,
Her who bore Thee once, and, deep in pain,
Watched Thee die.
Standing by,
Her who bore Thee once, and, deep in pain,
Watched Thee die.
All was cast away from Thee; and then,
With wild drouth,
“Why dost Thou forsake me, Father?” broke
From Thy mouth.
With wild drouth,
“Why dost Thou forsake me, Father?” broke
From Thy mouth.
Everything gone from Thee, even daylight;
None to trust;
Thou didst render up Thy holy Life
To the dust.
None to trust;
Thou didst render up Thy holy Life
To the dust.
FREGIT
ON the night of dedication
Of Thyself as our oblation,
Christ, Belovèd, Thou didst take
In Thy very hands and break....
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....
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.
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.
SICUT PARVULI
WITH me, laid upon my tongue,
As upon Thy Mother’s knee
Thou wert laid at Thy Nativity;
And she felt Thee lie her wraps among.
As upon Thy Mother’s knee
Thou wert laid at Thy Nativity;
And she felt Thee lie her wraps among.
Tenderest pressure, dint of grace,
All she dreamed and loved in God,
As a shoot from an old Patriarch’s rod,
Laid upon her, felt by her embrace.
All she dreamed and loved in God,
As a shoot from an old Patriarch’s rod,
Laid upon her, felt by her embrace.
O my God, to have Thee, feel Thee mine,
In Thy helpless Presence! Love,
Not to dream of Thee in power above,
But receive Thee, Little One divine!
In Thy helpless Presence! Love,
Not to dream of Thee in power above,
But receive Thee, Little One divine!
As the burthen of a seal
May give kingdoms with its touch,
Lo, Thy meek preponderance is such,
I am straight ennobled as I kneel.
May give kingdoms with its touch,
Lo, Thy meek preponderance is such,
I am straight ennobled as I kneel.
AURUM, THUS, ET MYRRHA—ALLELUIA!
O GIFT, O Blessèd Sacrament—my Gold,
All that I live by royally, the power,
Like gold, that buys life for me, hour by hour,
And crowns me with a greatness manifold
Such that my spirit scarce hath spring to hold
Its treasure and its sovereignty of dower!
All that I live by royally, the power,
Like gold, that buys life for me, hour by hour,
And crowns me with a greatness manifold
Such that my spirit scarce hath spring to hold
Its treasure and its sovereignty of dower!
O Blessèd Sacrament—my Frankincense,
God raised aloft in His Divinity,
Sweet-smelling as the dry and precious tree,
That spreads round sacrifice an odour dense,
Hiding with mystic offering our offence;
O holy Balm of God that pleads for me!
God raised aloft in His Divinity,
Sweet-smelling as the dry and precious tree,
That spreads round sacrifice an odour dense,
Hiding with mystic offering our offence;
O holy Balm of God that pleads for me!
HOLY COMMUNION
IN the Beginning—and in me,
Flesh of my flesh, O Deity,
Bone of my bone;
In me alone
Create, as if on Thy sixth day,
I, of frail breath and clay,
Were yet one seed with Thee,
Engendering Trinity!
Flesh of my flesh, O Deity,
Bone of my bone;
In me alone
Create, as if on Thy sixth day,
I, of frail breath and clay,
Were yet one seed with Thee,
Engendering Trinity!
OF SILENCE
“Be it done unto me
According to Thy word....”
Into Mortality
Slips the Eternal Word,
When not a sound is heard.
According to Thy word....”
Into Mortality
Slips the Eternal Word,
When not a sound is heard.
She spake those words, and then
Was silent in her heart;
Mother of Silence, when
Her will spake from her heart
Her lips had done their part.
Was silent in her heart;
Mother of Silence, when
Her will spake from her heart
Her lips had done their part.
And only once we hear
Her words that intercede;
Her will so sweetly clear
Those lips should intercede,
And help men in their need.
Her words that intercede;
Her will so sweetly clear
Those lips should intercede,
And help men in their need.
Out of her silence grew
The Word, and as a man
He neither cried nor knew
The strivings of a man,
When doom for Him began.
The Word, and as a man
He neither cried nor knew
The strivings of a man,
When doom for Him began.
And after He had gone
From Earth to Heaven away,
He came and lingered on;
He would not pass away,
But with His people stay.
From Earth to Heaven away,
He came and lingered on;
He would not pass away,
But with His people stay.
Son of the Silent Maid,
He chose her silence too.
In dumbness He hath stayed,
Dumbness unbroken too,
Past measure—as night-dew.
He chose her silence too.
In dumbness He hath stayed,
Dumbness unbroken too,
Past measure—as night-dew.
REAL PRESENCE
I APPROACH Thy Altar.... Stay!
Let me break away!
Level stones of marble, brazen lights,
Linen spread, flowers on the shelves and heights—
I bow down, I kneel ...
And far away, where the sun sets, would reel!
Let me break away!
Level stones of marble, brazen lights,
Linen spread, flowers on the shelves and heights—
I bow down, I kneel ...
And far away, where the sun sets, would reel!
For from forth Thy altar Thou
Strikest on me now,
Strikest on me, firm and warm to thrill,
With the charm of one whose touch could kill;
Giving me desire
Toward substance, yet for flight the lightning’s fire.
Strikest on me now,
Strikest on me, firm and warm to thrill,
With the charm of one whose touch could kill;
Giving me desire
Toward substance, yet for flight the lightning’s fire.
So, if close a lover kneels,
Praying close, one feels
All the body’s flow of life reined tight,
As when waters struggle at their height;
From Thy altar-stone,
Thou in my body bodily art known.
Praying close, one feels
All the body’s flow of life reined tight,
As when waters struggle at their height;
From Thy altar-stone,
Thou in my body bodily art known.
FROM THE HIGHWAY
KING of Kings, Thou comest down the street
To my door ...
As from ankles of the heavenly feet
Of wild angels, tinkling pedals sweet,
And sweet bells;
As if water-carriers from bright wells
Jangled freshets to a dewless land,
Thou art called upon the air,
As Thou mountest to me, stair by stair:
In my presence Thou dost stand,
And Thou comest to me on my bed....
Lord, I live and am not dead!
I should be dead—
I, a sinner! And Thou comest swift....
Woe, to wake such love to roam about,
Wandering the street to find me out,
Bringing wholesome balm for gift,
As, in contrariety,
Come to Magdalen, not she,
O Pure, to Thee!
To my door ...
As from ankles of the heavenly feet
Of wild angels, tinkling pedals sweet,
And sweet bells;
As if water-carriers from bright wells
Jangled freshets to a dewless land,
Thou art called upon the air,
As Thou mountest to me, stair by stair:
In my presence Thou dost stand,
And Thou comest to me on my bed....
Lord, I live and am not dead!
I should be dead—
I, a sinner! And Thou comest swift....
Woe, to wake such love to roam about,
Wandering the street to find me out,
Bringing wholesome balm for gift,
As, in contrariety,
Come to Magdalen, not she,
O Pure, to Thee!
“THAT HE SHOULD TASTE DEATH FOR EVERY MAN”
IN all things Thou art like us and content,
Bowing, receiv’st Thy sacrament.
What is it?—that Thou kneelest meek?
And what the gift that Thou dost seek
Beside us at Thy altars? Hour by hour,
What is it lays up in Thee holy power?
Christ, if Thou comest suppliant
It is to Death, the Celebrant!
Death gives the wafer of his dust;
The ashes of his harvest thrust
Upon Thy tongue Thou tastest, then
Dost swallow for the sake of men.
O Brightness of the Heavens, to save
Thy creatures Thou dost eat the grave!
Bowing, receiv’st Thy sacrament.
What is it?—that Thou kneelest meek?
And what the gift that Thou dost seek
Beside us at Thy altars? Hour by hour,
What is it lays up in Thee holy power?
Christ, if Thou comest suppliant
It is to Death, the Celebrant!
Death gives the wafer of his dust;
The ashes of his harvest thrust
Upon Thy tongue Thou tastest, then
Dost swallow for the sake of men.
O Brightness of the Heavens, to save
Thy creatures Thou dost eat the grave!
Our Sacrament—oh, generous!—of wheat,
The dust that out of corn we eat,
Whiteness of Life’s fair grain! O Christ,
No grinding of the cornfield had sufficed
To lay upon our tongues Thy holy Bread,
Unless Thou hadst Thyself so harshly fed
With grindings of the bone of death, the grit
That once was beauty and the form of it;
Once welcome, now so sharp to taste;
Once featured, now the dregs of waste;
Of hope once filled, now lacking aught
Of treasure to be sold or bought—
Dust of our substance Thou each day
Dost taste of in its fated clay....
O soul, take thought! It is thy God
That to His lips presses this choking sod!
The dust that out of corn we eat,
Whiteness of Life’s fair grain! O Christ,
No grinding of the cornfield had sufficed
To lay upon our tongues Thy holy Bread,
Unless Thou hadst Thyself so harshly fed
With grindings of the bone of death, the grit
That once was beauty and the form of it;
Once welcome, now so sharp to taste;
Once featured, now the dregs of waste;
Of hope once filled, now lacking aught
Of treasure to be sold or bought—
Dust of our substance Thou each day
Dost taste of in its fated clay....
O soul, take thought! It is thy God
That to His lips presses this choking sod!
NIMIS HONORATI SUNT
“Cast not your pearls down before swine!”
The words are Thine!—
Listen, cast not
The treasure of a white sea-grot,
An uncontaminate, round loveliness,
A pearl of ocean-waters fathomless,
A secret of exceeding, cherished light,
A dream withdrawn from evening infinite,
A beauty God gave silence to—cast not
This wealth from treasury of Indian seas,
Or Persian fisheries,
Down in the miry dens that clot
The feet of swine, who trample, hide and blot.
The words are Thine!—
Listen, cast not
The treasure of a white sea-grot,
An uncontaminate, round loveliness,
A pearl of ocean-waters fathomless,
A secret of exceeding, cherished light,
A dream withdrawn from evening infinite,
A beauty God gave silence to—cast not
This wealth from treasury of Indian seas,
Or Persian fisheries,
Down in the miry dens that clot
The feet of swine, who trample, hide and blot.
To us Thy words!... But, see,
In Thy idolatry
Of us, all thought
Of counsel fails and falls to nought!
Pearl of Great Price, within the monstrance set,
Why wilt Thou for Thyself Thy charge forget?
O Love, from deeps before the world began,
O Sheltered of God’s Bosom, why for man
Wilt Thou so madly in the slough be cast,
Concealed ’mid tramplings and disgrace of swine?
O Host, O White, Benign!
Why spend in rage of love at last
Thy wisdom all eternity amassed?
In Thy idolatry
Of us, all thought
Of counsel fails and falls to nought!
Pearl of Great Price, within the monstrance set,
Why wilt Thou for Thyself Thy charge forget?
O Love, from deeps before the world began,
O Sheltered of God’s Bosom, why for man
Wilt Thou so madly in the slough be cast,
Concealed ’mid tramplings and disgrace of swine?
O Host, O White, Benign!
Why spend in rage of love at last
Thy wisdom all eternity amassed?
BLESSED ARE THE BEGGARS Matt. v. 3
I
TAKE me along with thee, O blessed, seeking one!
Take me along with thee! Thou art not poor;
Arimathea doth thy wealth immure;
Thou hast a garden in the country sun;
Thou hast a new, clean-chiselled grave awaits thee,
A grave, self-chosen, neither low nor narrow;
And thou couldst bring excess of myrrh and aloe
As gift where thou dost love,
If thou thy love wouldst prove:
Yet must thou beg. A beggar Pilate rates thee,
Coming to beg the body of thy Lord,
Cast from the Cross by men, of thee adored.[A]
Take me along with thee! Thou art not poor;
Arimathea doth thy wealth immure;
Thou hast a garden in the country sun;
Thou hast a new, clean-chiselled grave awaits thee,
A grave, self-chosen, neither low nor narrow;
And thou couldst bring excess of myrrh and aloe
As gift where thou dost love,
If thou thy love wouldst prove:
Yet must thou beg. A beggar Pilate rates thee,
Coming to beg the body of thy Lord,
Cast from the Cross by men, of thee adored.[A]
[A] “This man went unto Pilate, and begged the body of Jesus.”—Luke xxiii. 52.
II
TAKE me along with thee, and let me learn thy prayer!
Take me along with thee! I must prevail.
For all that I possess is void and stale
Unless I have God’s Body in my care.
Kneeling together, make for both petition!
Only upon our knees shall we receive Him,
Only by importunity achieve Him,
And crying with one need.
Prompt in thy grace, give heed!
I am a beggar of thy wild condition:
I huddle to thy side, my hope is thine,
Thy will my will—His Body must be mine.
Take me along with thee! I must prevail.
For all that I possess is void and stale
Unless I have God’s Body in my care.
Kneeling together, make for both petition!
Only upon our knees shall we receive Him,
Only by importunity achieve Him,
And crying with one need.
Prompt in thy grace, give heed!
I am a beggar of thy wild condition:
I huddle to thy side, my hope is thine,
Thy will my will—His Body must be mine.