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A poem by George Borrow |
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Saint Jacob |
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Title: Saint Jacob Author: George Borrow [More Titles by Borrow] Saint Jacob he takes our blest Lord by the hand: "O how wilt thou bring it within Christian pale? "Thy power, O Lord, is so wondrously great, "Saint Jacob, hie down to the salt ocean strand, Saint Jacob he taketh a book in his hand, Saint Jacob he made o'er the stone the cross-mark, It rode o'er the billows so rapid and free, So rapid the stone to glide thither began, In comes a foot-boy, to the King doffs his bonnet: A woman rushed in, in her eyes wonder shone: King Garsia taketh his axe in his hand, "Now hear thou, Saint Jacob, I say unto thee, "Unto thee I am come to this land 'cross the brine, "O how can thy Maker be greater than mine? "O then my Creator is greater than thine, "My Maker can turn the black mould into bread, "If thou canst restore me my dearly loved son, "If I again view him, with flesh and hair dight, "If I get him again both with hawk and with hound, "With hair on his head, and with flesh on his bone, Then the blessed Saint Jacob upon his book pored: When he had stood reading a wee little time, "Now again thou hast got him with flesh and hair dight, "Thou hast got him again, both with hawk and with hound, "With hair on his head, and with flesh on his bone, "Now hear thou, my dear son, so fine and so fair, "The news which I bring from the far distant place, "There the woman, who's hated the child of her womb, "There the cruel step-mother, her child who has slain, "The merchants who here in heaps money up-rake, "The Sysselmen, wretches with hearts hard as stone, [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |