THE MASTER He was hungry: <br /> ‘Shall we not dine,’ said He, <br />‘On the good fruit amongst the leaves <br /> Of this delightful tree?’ <br />But oh! the fig-tree bore no fruit. <br />‘Wither,’ He bade it, ‘to the root, <br /> For thus deceiving me.’ <br /> <br /> <br />The Master He was hungry. <br /> He plucked the grains so red <br />Of wheat that grew beside the way, <br /> And He was bravely fed. <br />‘For this,’ He said, ‘I guerdon thee, <br />Through all the years, a type to be <br /> Of Christ, the Living Bread.’ <br /> <br /> <br />The Master He was thirsty. <br /> He raised His hand on high, <br />And crushed the good red grapes that grew <br /> The nearest to the sky. <br />‘And as thou gavest me drink of thine, <br />So must I pour my blood, O Vine, <br /> When I for man shall die.’ <br /> <br /> <br />The Master He was passing <br /> From men He held so dear. <br />The feast with bread and wine was made; <br /> The Friday Cross was near. <br />‘Droop not!’ He spoke, and blessed their food: <br />‘The broken Body and the Blood <br /> Sustain you year by year.’ <br />And corn and wine thenceforth have stood <br /> His symbols everywhere.<br /><br />Mary Colborne-Veel<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-blessing-2/
