You who have known the darkness slowly yield,
And in the twilight the first blackbird’s cry
Come, with the dripping of the dew new-shaken
From twigs where yellowing leaves and reddening berries lie,
And seen the colour come upon the field,
And heard the cocks crow as the thorps awaken,
You know with what a holiness of light
The peace of morning comes, and how night goes –
Not goes, but, on a sudden, is not, even.
Now God Himself is Man and all the banded Night
Will perish and the Kingdom will unclose.
O man, praise God, praise Him, you host of heaven.
From the play ‘The Coming of Christ’ (words by John Masefield, music by Gustav Holst). (For more information about this play visit ‘A Clerk of Oxford’s blog here)