He made them and He called them good As they had grown in the bramble wood, Long and glistening, green and brown Thorns that now in a woven crown Approached to clasp His stricken head, As gently chiding them He said: 'Children, My Thorns, on the wild thorn tree That were your proper place to be. Along your woods young April goes And sweet in the brake is the wind that blows, Here indeed you have lost your skies; Why are you twisted circle-wise, What do you here in the hands of men?' And it seems the thorns gave answer then: 'You know, my Lord, it is not we Have left our place on the bramble tree, But evil hearts that cry for Blood Have torn us away from the April wood. There is a thing which men call sin, We think it is this that drives us in: With Blood above, and Blood below, You know we would not have it so, With Blood below, and Blood above, Believe it is a clasp of love We take upon Your holy head, Forgive us living, and love us dead.' And He who had made them and called them good, The long sharp thorns of the young spring wood, He bowed His holy head to them And went to His death in their diadem. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I WANT TO LIVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MY BOY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON BEAUTY THAT IS NEVER OLD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON ELEGY: THE LITTLE GHOST WHO DIED FOR LOVE; FOR ALLANAH HARPER by EDITH SITWELL |