An Easter Reading of excerpts from The Final Verses by John Masefield.

...All earthly things that blessèd morning
Were everlasting joy and warning.
The gate was Jesus’ way made plain,
The mole was Satan foiled again,
Black blinded Satan snouting way
Along the red of Adam’s clay;
The mist was error and damnation,
The lane the road unto salvation.
Out of the mist into the light,
O blessèd gift of inner sight.
The past was faded like a dream;
There come the jingling of a team,
A ploughman’s voice, a clink of chain,
Slow hoofs, and harness under strain.
Up the slow slope a team came bowing,
Old Callow at his autumn ploughing,
Old Callow, stooped above the hales,
Ploughing the stubble into wales.
His grave eyes looking straight ahead,
Shearing a long straight furrow red;
His plough-foot high to give it earth
To bring new food for men to birth.
O wet red swathe of earth laid bare,
O truth, O strength, O gleaming share,
O patient eyes that watch the goal,
O ploughman of the sinner’s soul.
O Jesus, drive the coulter deep
To plough my living man from sleep.

…Then the chains chack, the brasses jingle,
The lean reins gather through the cringle,
The figures move against the sky,
The clay wave breaks as they go by.
I kneeled there in the muddy fallow,
I knew that Christ was there with Callow,
That Christ was standing there with me,
That Christ had taught me what to be,
That I should plough, and as I ploughed
My Savior Christ would sing aloud,
And as I drove the clods apart
Christ would be ploughing in my heart,
Through rest-harrow and bitter roots,
Through all my bad life’s rotten fruits.
O Christ who holds the open gate,
O Christ who drives the furrow straight,
O Christ, the plough, O Christ, the laughter
Of holy white birds flying after,
Lo, all my heart’s field red and torn,
And Thou wilt bring the young green corn,
The young green corn divinely springing,
The young green corn forever singing;
And when the field is fresh and fair
Thy blessèd feet shall glitter there,
And we will walk the weeded field,
And tell the golden harvest’s yield,
The corn that makes the holy bread
By which the soul of man is fed,
The holy bread, the food unpriced,
Thy everlasting mercy, Christ…

Reprinted from Bread and Wine: Readings for Lent and Easter available from Amazon or Orbis Press.

 

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Your Turn. Tell us what you thought about this article:

Responses

Wow, I like the personal/identity/spiritual touch. The Christ is the inspiration for everything, period. I am writing of my own, and you've inspired me to continue... timeless,...simple and to the point...beautifully and wholefully simple.

Steve C. from California

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You really ought to print the whole poem, long as it is.
It gives much more power to the lines above.

Jennifer Koppschall

We agree! Here's a link to the complete poem by John Masefield - Ed.