Phillip Medhurst

Proverbs 1:31; 9:5 

If I could grasp at Truth at all,

In a fine feast of hymnody,

I’d eat my fill; but my own fall

Has made of it a parody.

Beyond my reach, it’s only ash

I savour now, from Dead Sea fruit.

My lot bewailed, my teeth I gnash,

As I grub up fell’s shrieking root:

My birthright sold, my mess it makes.

Sin’s fruitage taught what Adam knows:

With swine the prodigal partakes.

I’ll go, then – glean where Wisdom sows.

Sophia’s fare – her wind-doled meat –

Her manna won’t to poison turn.

With new-washed hands I’ll take, I’ll eat,

Refresh my soul, and lesson learn.

Spiced with sagacity Faith’s songs

Will whet anew my appetite:

Then grown upright and done with wrongs

I’ll taste a fresh and chaste delight.