On that sunlit day in Gilgal, the man
Of God gave his command—not his, but Love's—
"Seethe pottage." Sons of prophets, meekly come
To hear Elisha speak of God—these must be fed,
If they would feed the famishing, for dearth
Was in the land. But one went out to gather
Herbs, and found a wild vine, and filled his lap
With wild gourds, golden in their beauty, smooth
And fair, and shred them in the pot.
Sons of prophets, eat it not—death is in the pot!
There must be pottage for the sons of prophets,
If they would give to them who have no bread.
Elisha, knowing God, cast meal into the pot,
And now there was in it no harm.
Wild vines, wild gourds, golden in their beauty—
Are these more pleasant than the plain pottage,
When dearth is in the land, and men are faint for bread?
Oh, let us, remembering Gilgal, seethe good
Pottage; let us take meal, that the wild vines,
Golden gourds, smooth and fair, shall do no harm.
Let us pour out for the people, that they
May be fed, pour out sweet pottage for them
That are languishing, that there be no famine
Of hearing the words of the Lord.
