A Ballad Of The Trees And The Master

Poem By Sidney Lanier

Into the woods my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent.
Into the woods my Master came,
Forspent with love and shame.
But the olives they were not blind to Him,
The little gray leaves were kind to Him:
The thorn-tree had a mind to Him
When into the woods He came.

Out of the woods my Master went,
And He was well content.
Out of the woods my Master came,
Content with death and shame.
When Death and Shame would woo Him last,
From under the trees they drew Him last:
'Twas on a tree they slew Him - last
When out of the woods He came.

Comments about A Ballad Of The Trees And The Master

Lanier very rarely wrote this well. When he did, the results were spell-binding: this poem, " The Marshes of Glynn, " and " The Revenge of Hamish."
That was a really strong poem that really flowed well together. Great poem!
I like this poem, it's quite good
I have these words which I believe also belong to this poem. Is this correct? It would have to be the beginning of the poem. 'Mary walked among the birch trees questioning each one. 'Little birch trees, little white souls, Have you seen my son? ' None made answer, none knew of him......
Dear Lecie: There certainly is a biblical aspect to this poem of Lanier's. As a matter of fact, it was made into a hymn and can be found, I believe, in the 1940 Hymnal of the Episcopal Church (PECUSA, not ECUSA) . It is a beautiful expression of Christ's sacrifice and final victory for us. Jerry (*___~)


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Other poems of LANIER

A Song Of Eternity In Time

Once, at night, in the manor wood
My Love and I long silent stood,
Amazed that any heavens could
Decree to part us, bitterly repining.

A Sunrise Song.

Young palmer sun, that to these shining sands
Pourest thy pilgrim's tale, discoursing still
Thy silver passages of sacred lands,
With news of Sepulchre and Dolorous Hill,

An Evening Song.

Look off, dear Love, across the sallow sands,
And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea,
How long they kiss in sight of all the lands.
Ah! longer, longer, we.

An Frau Nannette Falk-Auerbach.

Als du im Saal mit deiner himmlischen Kunst
Beethoven zeigst, und seinem Willen nach
Mit den zehn Fingern fuehrst der Leute Gunst,
Zehn Zungen sagen was der Meister sprach.

A Sea-Shore Grave. To M. J. L.

By Sidney and Clifford Lanier.

O wish that's vainer than the plash
Of these wave-whimsies on the shore:

A Florida Sunday.

From cold Norse caves or buccaneer Southern seas
Oft come repenting tempests here to die;
Bewailing old-time wrecks and robberies,
They shrive to priestly pines with many a sigh,