The Fields Of God

I have been within the field
At the young morning, when the thrush
Tore ope the brushy way, marking her flight
With the silver of her song. I have seen
The green of the young grain waving
Beneath the kiss of the young East wind.
Yea, I have beheld the green field
Bejewelled with gems, the flashing gems of dew!
I have drunk the perfume of its breath,
And have become wrapped in its beauty.
Oh, I have been within the young field
In the mid-day when the hot sun
Scorched the tenderness of green,
Leaving its golden kiss hanging.
Lo, I have beheld its steady glare,
And become bedazzled with its glory.
Oh, I know the field too, at a later hour,
When the heavy moon climbs,
And seems to heavily bear up the night,
Drawing light from its depths.
Oh, I have seen this grain turned
From its golden hue unto a silver pure.
I have beheld it at all seasons.
But oh, merciful God, not at these tides
Would I seek Thy fields! Nay, I would know them,
When drouth had scorched them barren,
When the rutted ways smoke,
And the grain stalks have become naked.
Then would I strike with a rod upon
The fruitful soil, and call forth
The coming unto herbiage of new seeds.
My hand is unto the share!
Let the way stretch wearily before!
I would know its sweat and its sweetness.
I would know its labour and its rest.
For he who would follow Him must know
The pressing of the stones,
Yea, and the tearing of the briar,
Yea, the sharpness of the thorn,
And the bitterness of tears!
All of these he must know-
And forget all in exultation!