**The Fields **
THE FIELDS from Islington to Marybone,
To Primrose Hill and Saint John’s Wood,
Were builded over with pillars of gold;
And there Jerusalem’s pillars stood.
Her Little Ones ran on the fields,
The Lamb of God among them seen,
And fair Jerusalem, His Bride,
Among the little meadows green.
Pancras and Kentish Town repose
Among her golden pillars high,
Among her golden arches which
Shine upon the starry sky.
The Jew’s-harp House and the Green Man,
The Ponds where boys to bathe delight,
The fields of cows by William’s farm,
Shine in Jerusalem’s pleasant sight.
She walks upon our meadows green;
The Lamb of God walks by her side;
And every English child is seen,
Children of Jesus and His Bride;
Albion’s Spectre, from his loins,
Tore forth in all the pomp of War;
Satan his name; in flames of fire
He stretch’d his Druid pillars far.
Jerusalem fell from Lambeth’s vale,
Down thro’ Poplar and Old Bow,
Thro’ Malden, and across the sea,
In war and howling, death and woe.
He wither’d up sweet Zion’s hill
From every nation of the Earth;
He wither’d up Jerusalem’s Gates,
And in a dark land gave her birth.
He wither’d up the Human Form
By laws of sacrifice for Sin,
Till it became a Mortal Worm,
But O! translucent all within.
The Divine Vision still was seen,
Still was the Human Form Divine;
Weeping, in weak and mortal clay,
O Jesus! still the Form was Thine!
And Thine the Human Face; and Thine
The Human Hands, and Feet, and Breath,
Entering thro’ the Gates of Birth,
And passing thro’ the Gates of Death.
And O Thou Lamb of God! whom I
Slew in my dark self-righteous pride,
Art Thou return’d to Albion’s land,
And is Jerusalem Thy Bride?
Come to my arms, and nevermore
Depart; but dwell for ever here;
Create my spirit to Thy love;
Subdue my Spectre to Thy fear.
In my Exchanges every land
Shall walk; and mine in every land,
Mutual shall build Jerusalem,
Both heart in heart and hand in hand.
**I See thy Form (O lovely mild Jerusalem) **
I see thy Form O lovely mild Jerusalem, Winged with Six Wings
In the spacious Bosom of the Sleeper. Lovely Three-fold
In Head & Heart & Reins three Universes of love & beauty
Thy forehead bright: Holiness to the Lord, with Gates of pearl
Reflects Eternity beneath thy azure wings of feathery down.
Ribbed delicate & clothed with feathered gold & azure & purple
From thy white shoulders shadowing. purity in holiness!
Thence feathered with soft crimson of the ruby bright as fire
Spreading into the azure Wings which like a canopy
Bends over thy immortal Head in which Eternity dwells
Let the Slave/The Price of Experience
Let the slave grinding at the mill run out into the field:
Let him look up into the heavens & laugh in the bright air;
Let the enchained soul shut up in darkness and in sighing,
Whose face has never seen a smile in thirty weary years
Rise and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are open.
And let his wife and children return from the oppressor’s scourge.
They look behind at every step & believe it is a dream,
Singing, 'The Sun has left his blackness, & has found a fresher morning
And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear & cloudless night;
For Empire is no more, and now the Lion & Wolf shall cease
For Everything that lives if Holy
“What is the price of Experience? Do men buy it for a song?
Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price
Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children
Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy
And in the withered field where the farmer ploughs for bread in vain
It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer’s sun
And in the vintage and to sing on the wagon loaded with corn
It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted
To speak the laws of prudence to the homeless wanderer
To listen to the hungry raven’s cry in wintry season
When the red blood is filled with wine and with the marrow of lambs
It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements
To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughterhouse moan;
To see a god on every wind and a blessing on every blast
To hear sounds of love in the thunderstorm that destroys our enemies’ house;
To rejoice in the blight that covers his field and the sickness that cuts off his children
While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door and our children bring fruits and flowers
Then the groan and the dolour are quite forgotten and the slave grinding at the mill
And the captive in chains and the poor in the prison and the soldier in the field
When the shattered bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead
It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity:
Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but it is not so with me.”
William Blake
)
. Certainly the whole of Godspell seems far closer to the Gospel than the other hit of time 'Jesus Christ Superstar. This other show may or may not have certain dramatic and//or musical merits. But it’s portrayal of Jesus!!! I know that there’s no accounting for taste but the character of J.C. Superstar seems very much a self absorbed, self pitying, emotionally manipulative hippy to me.
), and thus much easier to understand.