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.
Mary Colborne-Veel's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Blessing by Mary Colborne-Veel )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- The Exception Perception Has, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- You Know, Whats-his-name, Lawrence Beck
- Isis: Syria and Iraq, do something!, Rachel Nichols
- THE POOR PEOPLE AND THEIR POVERTY الفقرا.., MOHAMMAD SKATI
- I PROMISE, Poet Akinwemimo Idris
- The Spyders, David Lewis Paget
- Monsoon., David Lessard
- Unprepared, Disrespectful 'and' Undiscip.., Lawrence S. Pertillar
- Summer Nights, Maya Hanson (mye3 poet)
- THE PRETTY SEASONS AND THE PRETTY ROCK O.., MOHAMMAD SKATI