Master and Scholar etc. etc. By E. H. Plumptre: Second edition with notes |
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 | Master and Scholar |  |
2.
Up, rise ye, rise, with shouts of joy,
From man and woman, maid and boy;
For lo! the circling autumn sun
His long year's course has all but run.
Right well the teeming womb of earth
Has given to man its wondrous birth;
All now is ours, and nothing lacks,
The first ripe barley, latest flax;
On every wide-spread threshing-floor
The wheat sheaves yield their golden store,
And patient oxen, as they tread,
Leave the clear grain for staff of bread.
From out the olives, as we press,
There flows, our wearied limbs to bless,
The crystal stream of golden oil,
Rich guerdon of the labourer's toil;
And, last and best, from Eshcol's vine
We drain the sweet, soul-quickening wine.
Through all the joyous crowds that throng
Our vineyards float the sounds of song,
And goodliest youths the winepress tread,
Their feet and garments stained with red.
What time the heathen, flushed and wild,
By dreams and fancies foul beguiled,
In frenzied dance or whirling maze,
With pinewood torches' flashing blaze,
Dance to the god, the child of Jove,
And sing of mirth, and joy, and love;
What time the Mænads' sharp, shrill cry
Breaks the calm silence of the sky,
And locks dishevelled, wine-besprent,
Fall down o'er faces passion-spent,
And wearied frames convulsed, possessed,
At last sink, panting, into rest,
Behold our priests in robes of white,
Inwrought with blue and scarlet bright,
From Siloa's well to Zion turn,
Uplifting high their golden urn;
And there before the altar-stairs,
With chants of praise and loud-voiced prayers,
Pour forth, in sight of Israel,
The waters from salvation's well;
And when at eve the darkness falls
O'er street and market, huts and halls,
Behold one lamp, with mightiest blaze,
Shed far and wide its fiery rays,
O'er temple, court, and crowded street,
Where pilgrims haste with busiest feet,
Down Kedron's valley, further yet
O'er yon steep slope of Olivet.
From man and woman, maid and boy;
For lo! the circling autumn sun
His long year's course has all but run.
Right well the teeming womb of earth
Has given to man its wondrous birth;
All now is ours, and nothing lacks,
The first ripe barley, latest flax;
On every wide-spread threshing-floor
The wheat sheaves yield their golden store,
And patient oxen, as they tread,
Leave the clear grain for staff of bread.
From out the olives, as we press,
There flows, our wearied limbs to bless,
168
Rich guerdon of the labourer's toil;
And, last and best, from Eshcol's vine
We drain the sweet, soul-quickening wine.
Through all the joyous crowds that throng
Our vineyards float the sounds of song,
And goodliest youths the winepress tread,
Their feet and garments stained with red.
What time the heathen, flushed and wild,
By dreams and fancies foul beguiled,
In frenzied dance or whirling maze,
With pinewood torches' flashing blaze,
Dance to the god, the child of Jove,
And sing of mirth, and joy, and love;
What time the Mænads' sharp, shrill cry
Breaks the calm silence of the sky,
And locks dishevelled, wine-besprent,
Fall down o'er faces passion-spent,
And wearied frames convulsed, possessed,
At last sink, panting, into rest,
Behold our priests in robes of white,
Inwrought with blue and scarlet bright,
From Siloa's well to Zion turn,
Uplifting high their golden urn;
And there before the altar-stairs,
With chants of praise and loud-voiced prayers,
Pour forth, in sight of Israel,
The waters from salvation's well;
169
O'er street and market, huts and halls,
Behold one lamp, with mightiest blaze,
Shed far and wide its fiery rays,
O'er temple, court, and crowded street,
Where pilgrims haste with busiest feet,
Down Kedron's valley, further yet
O'er yon steep slope of Olivet.
What soul so hard, and dead, and cold,
So deaf to all our fathers told,
As not to give to sick and poor
Free offering from its plenteous store?
Let friends greet friends with open hand,
Let each the other's purse command,
Let gifts be tokens true and clear
Of loving hearts, and friendship dear,
And anger die, as dies the year.
Each thought unkind, each harboured grudge
In his own heart let each man judge;
Cast out the unripe grapes and wild,
The clusters tainted and defiled:
There in the vineyard given to thee
Let root, branch, tendril cleansèd be;
Tread thou the wine-press till there flow
The fragrant stream with orient glow,
Which, pouring still as first it ran,
Makes glad the heart of God and man.
So deaf to all our fathers told,
As not to give to sick and poor
Free offering from its plenteous store?
Let friends greet friends with open hand,
Let each the other's purse command,
Let gifts be tokens true and clear
Of loving hearts, and friendship dear,
And anger die, as dies the year.
Each thought unkind, each harboured grudge
In his own heart let each man judge;
Cast out the unripe grapes and wild,
The clusters tainted and defiled:
There in the vineyard given to thee
Let root, branch, tendril cleansèd be;
Tread thou the wine-press till there flow
The fragrant stream with orient glow,
Which, pouring still as first it ran,
Makes glad the heart of God and man.
| Master and Scholar | |