The Golden Cap Team Ministry

"Come, dear heart! The fields are white to harvest"
by Evelyn Underhill

Click on the small triangle in the recording section to hear this:
Scroll down to follow - there's much more below!

Come, dear heart! The fields are white to harvest:
come and see As in a glass the timeless mystery
Of love, whereby we feed On God, our bread indeed.
Torn by the sickles, see him share the smart
Of travailing creation: maimed, despised,
Yet by his lovers the more dearly prized

Because for us he lays his beauty down -
Last toll paid by Perfection for our loss!
Trace on these fields his everlasting Cross,
And o'er the stricken sheaves the Immortal Victim's crown.
From far horizons came a Voice that said,
'Lo! From the hand of Death take thou thy daily bread.'

Then I, awakening saw A splendour burning
in the heart of things: The flame of living love
which lights the law Of mystic death that works
the mystic birth. I knew the patient passion of the earth,
Maternal, everlasting, whence there springs
The Bread of Angels and the life of man.

Now in each blade I, blind no longer, see
The glory of God's growth: know it to be
An earnest of the Immemorial Plan.
Yea, I have understood How all things are
one great oblation made: He on our altars,
we on the world's rood.

Even as this corn, Earth-born,
We are snatched from the sod, Reaped, ground to grist,
Crushed and tormented in the Mills of God,
And offered at Life's hands, a living Eucharist.

Evelyn Underhill 1875 - 1941

MEDITATION ON THE POEM

Read through below - or click the small triangle here to hear it read:


Evelyn Underhill, Anglican Theologian and Mystic was one of the great contemplatives:

To go up alone into the mountains
And come back as an ambassador to the world,
Has ever been the method of humanity's best friends.

This great poem is full of references and echoes of the spiritual journey on which we all find ourselves.
I have added the biblical references I have found

Come, dear heart!

There is an appeal to the soul in Christianity - it is not "use your brains" but "Come dear heart!"

Come, dear heart! The fields are white to harvest:

Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest. John 4.35

come and see As in a glass

For now we see through a glass, darkly;

Come and see the timeless mystery of love,

Behold, I shew you a mystery;

the timeless mystery of love,
whereby we feed On God, our bread indeed.

And Jesus said, "I am the bread of life ..."

Torn by the sickles, see him share the smart Of travailing creation:

For what hath man of all his labour, and of the vexation of his heart, wherein he hath laboured under the sun? For all his days are sorrows, and his travail grief;

maimed, despised,

He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: Isaiah 53

Yet by his lovers the more dearly prized
Because for us he lays his beauty down -

For he shall grow up before him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a dry ground: he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him.

Last toll paid by Perfection for our loss!

For as by one man's disobedience many were made sinners, so by the obedience of one shall many be made righteous.

Trace on these fields his everlasting Cross,
And o'er the stricken sheaves the Immortal Victim's crown.

But we see Jesus, who was made a little lower than the angels for the suffering of death, crowned with glory and honour; that he by the grace of God should taste death for every man.

From far horizons came a Voice that said,
'Lo! From the hand of Death take thou thy daily bread.'

For as often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do shew the Lord's death till he come.

Then I, awakening saw
A splendour burning in the heart of things:

a cloud and smoke by day, and the shining of a flaming fire by night:

The flame of living love which lights the law
Of mystic death that works the mystic birth.

as sin hath reigned unto death, even so might grace reign through righteousness unto eternal life by Jesus Christ our Lord

I knew the patient passion of the earth,
Maternal, everlasting, whence there springs
The Bread of Angels and the life of man.

... rained down manna upon them to eat, and had given them of the corn of heaven. Man did eat angels' food:

Now in each blade I, blind no longer, see The glory of God's growth:
know it to be An earnest of the Immemorial Plan.

ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light

Yea, I have understood How all things are
one great oblation made:

we are sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all.

He on our altars, we on the world's rood.

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise

Even as this corn, Earth-born,
We are snatched from the sod, Reaped, ground to grist,
Crushed and tormented in the Mills of God,
And offered at Life's hands, a living Eucharist.




As I read that poem a tune was humming in my head.
Finlandia by Sibelius - you can hear his native Finland full of dark and brooding forests, the small heroic nation standing under the shadow of the great Russian Bear.
And at the heart of Finlandia the great tune which we know as a hymn tune. It fits! Well almost - where the poem has a regular meter it matches the meter of the tune complete often with those feminine endings.
So how about setting it as a hymn?
The occasional word has to be moved to fit - and Evelyn stopped half way through the last verse!
But I think the changes are small enough for this to be an authentic setting of the poem:

THE POEMTHE HYMN SETTING
Come, dear heart! The fields are white to harvest:
come and see As in a glass the timeless mystery
Of love, whereby we feed On God, our bread indeed.
Torn by the sickles, see him share the smart
Of travailing creation: maimed, despised,
Yet by his lovers the more dearly prized

Because for us he lays his beauty down -
Last toll paid by Perfection for our loss!
Trace on these fields his everlasting Cross,
And o'er the stricken sheaves the Immortal Victim's crown.
From far horizons came a Voice that said,
'Lo! From the hand of Death take thou thy daily bread.'

Then I, awakening saw A splendour burning
in the heart of things: The flame of living love
which lights the law Of mystic death that works
the mystic birth. I knew the patient passion of the earth,
Maternal, everlasting, whence there springs
The Bread of Angels and the life of man.

Now in each blade I, blind no longer, see
The glory of God's growth: know it to be
An earnest of the Immemorial Plan.
Yea, I have understood How all things are
one great oblation made: He on our altars,
we on the world's rood.

Even as this corn, Earth-born,
We are snatched from the sod, Reaped, ground to grist,
Crushed and tormented in the Mills of God,
And offered at Life's hands, a living Eucharist.
Come see dear heart! the fields are white to harvest.
As in a glass, love's timeless mystery,
Whereby we feed on God, our bread indeed,
Torn by the sickles, see him share the smart
Of travailing creation: maimed, despiséd,
Yet by his lovers the more dearly prized.

Because for us he lays his beauty down -
Last toll paid by Perfection for our loss!
Trace on these fields his everlasting Cross,
O'er stricken sheaves th'Immortal Victim's crown.
From far horizons came a Voice that said,
'From hand of Death take thou thy daily bread.'

Then I, awakening saw a splendour burning
In heart of things the flame of living love
which lights the law of mystic death that works
the mystic birth - the patient passion'd earth,
Maternal, everlasting, whence there springs
The Bread of Angels and the life of man.

Now in each blade I, blind no longer, see
The glory of God's growth: know it to be
An earnest of the Immemorial Plan.
Yea, I have understood how all things are_
one great oblation made: He on our altars,
we on the world's rood. Even as this corn,

Earth born, e'en as this corn we are earth born,
We are snatched from the sod, reaped, ground to grist,
Crushed and tormented in the Mills of God,
And offered at life's hands, a living bread.
Crushed and tormented in the Mills of God,
And offered up, a living Eucharist.
Evelyn Underhill Set to Finlandia, John Eade
May be freely used with this acknowledgement

Click the small triangle to hear me sing it as a hymn - warning! - you might be able to sing it better than me!

To hear Finlandia in the full orchestral setting Click here
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Music and words in document format

John Eade