Classic Poem

When the world's folk, one day of freedom,
the lively host of Christendom,
show their works before God
the beloved Lord (fine true words)
on the great mountain of Olivet,
where they will all be judged,
the labourer, the meadow traveller,
will tell a simple, cheerful tale.

The lively God is generous;
if a man has given God offering and tithe,
then a good soul directly
he'll pay to God and merit bliss.
The worker in the bright meadow
easily trusts to the Lord God.
Most properly his almsgiving
and hospitality are for all.
He'll speak his mind only on ploughs;
he hates dissension where he works.
He'll make and follow no war,
he'll oppress no one for his goods,
he's never brutal with us
nor will he pursue false claims.
Suffering is his seemly way,
yet there's no life without him.
He finds it many times pleasanter,
and I think no worse of him,
to grip in his placid way
the crooked plough and the goad
than if he were wrecking a tower
in the guise of a ravaging Arthur.

Without his work there's no
Christ's sacrifice to feed our faith,
and without him no pope
or emperor can keep alive,
no wine-giving, sprightly king
of notable prudence, no living man.

The useful old Elucidarium
put it thus happily,
‘Blessed is he who through his youth
holds in his hands the plough.’
It's a cradle tearing the smooth long broom,
a fishing basket lacing the field,
a holy image of dear praise,
a heron opening a quick furrow,
a basket for the wild earth, now to be tamed
in honoured, coultered order;
a gander of the wild acres,
grain will come of its true skill.
It fetches crops from the rich earth,
it's a good beast biting the ground.
It must have its knife and its board
and its food right under its thigh.
It goes unwillingly through stones,
it skins the field with leg outstretched.
Its head is ever employed
on a fair way beneath oxen's feet.
It has often sung its hymn,
it loves to follow the plough chain.
A root-breaker of valley growth,
it stretches a stiff neck out;
tough-headed train-bearer,
its wooden shank scatters the earth.

Hu Gadarn, lord of a lively people,
a king who gave wine for verse,
emperor of land and seas,
Constantinople's golden constable,
after defeat took up
the nimble, fine-beamed plough,
for this hale, host-scattering lord,
this great leader never sought bread
but, so well instructed was he,
by his own labour. This gifted eagle
wished to show to the proud
and to the wisely humble that
in the sight of the Father of the holy relic
one craft was best, a sign of triumph,
that ploughing is a scholarship.
Where there's belief and baptism
and everyone upholding the faith,
the Lord God's hand on this best of men
and Mary's hand on every labourer.