Nearness of Years Warwick Allen Friday, 18 September 2026
The mem'ry of that first, that lovers' hold, From thought to feeling turns, as years grow long. Your warm embrace, a mantle for my soul, A verdant vine, encompassing and strong, In constant blossom still, despite the storm, And ever near, despite the space apart. This, your embrace, still grows, and comes to form A deepening relief upon my heart.
A willing and a grateful host, I stand, As your sweet closeness on my soul attends, Yet yearning to be once more hand-in-hand, Though still our bond the space between transcends.
The distance 'twixt us, vast as it appears, It can't diminish nearness won by years.
Uncontainable Warwick Allen Wednesday, 16 September 2026
[Verse 1] O Lord, king of us, You've made so numerous Your thoughts toward us and deeds so wondrous. You, Lord, are unmatched: none can be compared! Your wondrous acts: more than can be declared. May all who seek You, who bow down in awe, rejoice, be glad in You, and sing, “Great is the Lord!”
[Pre-chorus] Into my life, Your Spirit's bestowed; into my heart, Your love's been sown.
[Chorus] This love You placed in me is uncontainable; my heart bursts at the seams. Your goodness and great deeds are incomparable; I praise the God who redeems.
[Verse 2] Trying to say how my spirit soars thinking of the goodness of my Lord. Trying to express my gratitude knowing each good gift comes from You. Searching for a way to exclaim the beauty, the wonder of Your name.
[Pre-chorus] In my life, Your goodness grows; from my heart, Your goodness flows.
[Chorus] This love You placed in me is uncontainable; my heart bursts at the seams. Your goodness and great deeds are incomparable; I praise the God who redeems.
[Bridge] For He who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is His name. For those who fear Him, He has abounding mercy, from generation to generation.
[Verse 3] So here I offer my humble verse, to say how my heart begins to burst when thoughts of You fill my mind and I ponder Your love divine, when I remember Your great might, and am assured You hold me tight.
[Pre-chorus] In my life, You've made Your home; from my heart, I'll make You known.
[Chorus] This love You placed in me is uncontainable; my heart bursts at the seams. Your goodness and great deeds are incomparable; I praise the God who redeems.
[Stanza 1] Alas, my errant, froward feet, profaning pride and wayward will! They lead me from the pasture sweet, beyond the fence and down the hill to gullies where I find defeat.
[Sheep's Refrain] O, You, my Lord, I love You most— this I state. But my ways expose an empty boast...
[Shepherd's Refrain 1] My own child, you roamed far, lonely; I called you home, your wand'rings over.
[Stanza 2] The track You carved for me to pace, to veer not left nor right, nor roam, but climb the height. I set my face to flee the road that leads me home, and choose the dark and lonely place.
[Sheep's Refrain] O, You, my Lord, I love You most— this I state. But my ways expose an empty boast...
[Shepherd's Refrain 2] My dear child, fearful and weary— though you veer, you know I am here: I am nearer.
[Stanza 3] Imprisoned deep by choking vine; bush lawyer here decrees. It tears my skin. This doom is rightly mine. From mire, can I dare whisper prayers? To my defeat I must resign.
[Sheep's Refrain] O, You, my Lord, I love You most— this I state. But my ways expose an empty boast...
[Reflection] Here in the gully's depths, I cry to You, my Shepherd. O Lord, hear my voice! Let Your ears attend my pleas for mercy. Should You mark every wandering —each rebellion— who could stand? But with You there is forgiveness —I tremble! My soul waits for You, my Lord, my soul waits...
[Stanza 4] At last the wand'ring child is spent; no pasture near, no strength to fight, no pride to plead, no knee unbent; in this, the cold and starless night I break, I weep, and I repent.
[Sheep's Refrain] O, You, my Lord, I love You most— this I state. But my ways expose an empty boast...
[Shepherd's Refrain 3] My meek child, I see your weeping; I will not leave you in the deep— be at peace; I'll be your keeper.
[Stanza 5] With Your firm crook You pull me back to paddock safe, to my true flock, with grace You place me back on track where I can rest on surest Rock and nothing needful I will lack.
[Final Sheep's Refrain] Now I will boast, but it is true: in all my boast, I speak of You.
[Final Shepherd's Refrain] My own child, home—be still, and know I hold you, gathered from the snow; now rise, and walk the road I chose, for all the way, my own, we go.
The four-monosyllabic words that form the middle line of the sheep’s responses
should be read on the stressed beats of an iambic tetrameter line. That is:
rest THIS rest I rest STATE. rest BUT
These rests are indicated in the text by the middle-dot (·) symbol.
Structural Goals and Literary Devices
These are the guidelines and objectives I have been reaching for when
constructing the revised version of this poem.
The Governing Structure
The poem has two voices: an elevated, penitential sheep and a plain, warm
Shepherd. The register shift is justified because it tracks a change of
speaker, so it reads as characterisation rather than as inconsistency, and it
dramatises that the return is the Shepherd’s initiative.
The recurring unit runs: an elevated narrative quintain (the sheep’s voice) →
the sheep’s fixed refrain → the Shepherd’s growing refrain. This ordering lets
the Law expose and the Gospel answer, within each return and across the whole.
The Law-and-Gospel contrast is carried by the registers but kept oblique —
felt, never labelled — and must not harden into a dualism, since the Law here
is the Shepherd’s own fence and good pasture, the same Person and the same
love heard first under strain and then in comfort.
The Two Refrains
The sheep’s refrain is fixed and recurs unchanged (except for its final
occurrence), serving as the constant pole against which the rising grace is
measured; its very recurrence enacts the besetting sin. The settled text is:
O, You, my Lord, I love You most
this I state. But
my ways expose an empty boast.
Within it, “state” is preferred over “profess” because its hard, clinical
close survives repetition and keeps the middle line to four monosyllabic
stresses, each preceded by a rest, so that the iambic pulse is preserved but
hollowed out. The deliberate weight of each word, suspended in its rest,
sharpens the turn. The Titus 1:16 echo is already carried obliquely by the
third line; and the dangling, enjambed “but” is the pivot on which the refrain
swings.
That the sheep’s refrain is unchanged after the repentance of the third stanza
is deliberate. It points to how even the most sincere repentance is
imperfect, and that the sinner is dependent on the Spirit to bring that
repentance to completion.
The final sheep’s refrain redeems the boast and acts as a pivot toward the
climax: the final Shepherd’s refrain.
The Shepherd’s refrain is incremental and grows as the poem proceeds, because
the Gospel must mount and have the last word; at least three returns are
needed for the growth to register as a rising sequence rather than mere
repetition. The asymmetry is deliberate: failure constant, grace mounting.
The Shepherd’s Music
The Shepherd’s refrains assonate rather than rhyme through the body of the
poem, because assonance hums open and untroubled (the sound of flowing grace),
whereas pararhyme snaps shut on an off-note (the sound of the sheep’s unease);
this also sets the Law’s clinched full rhyme against the Gospel’s open vowel
as a contrast the ear can feel.
The assonance must be saturated, sounding the chosen vowel internally as well
as at the line-ends, so that it is heard as a binding scheme and not mistaken
for free verse.
The climax resolves into full rhyme — the first time the Shepherd’s voice
locks shut — so that the two voices converge at the close, which is felt as a
sealing, an embrace closed round, rather than a wound knit up. The final
refrain also switches to masculine endings, futher emphasising time closure.
The Vowel Scheme
The ending is to read as homecoming, so the final full rhyme reprises a vowel
already heard rather than introducing a new one, since homecoming is return to
a known place and not arrival somewhere new.
The reprised vowel is the first refrain’s vowel, closing a ring: the sound
that first called the sheep is the sound that finally seals him home.
Reinforced by the fixed opening address, the final refrain’s “My own child”
returns as both a vowel and a phrase.
The home-vowel is the long /oÊŠ/, chosen because it is the vowel of the
home-words themselves, because it is the roundest and most yearning of the
long vowels, because it offers a rich field of full-rhyme words for the
climax, and because it already sounds on the word “home” at the goal of the
sheep’s journey in the second stanza.
Each refrain otherwise takes its own vowel, with variation between refrains
but saturation within each, because a single vowel throughout would read as
stasis whereas changing vowels support the phased deepening and make the final
fixity mean more. The wandering of the vowels and their final settling quietly
mime the sheep’s own journey.
Unity across the refrains is carried by three constants: the falling,
feminine-ended, roughly three-beat cadence; the fixed opening address
“My ___ child,” whose adjective announces each refrain’s vowel and carries a
phase-appropriate meaning; and the constant syntactic shape of address, then
what-was, then what-the-Shepherd-does.
The Phases and the Arc
The Shepherd’s refrains progress through distinct phases of grace — calling
and holding first, preservation through the depths in the middle,
leading-onward last — so that the refrains deepen rather than circle, and the
commissioning is held in reserve for the end.
The narrative descent must likewise deepen rather than repeat: each elevated
quintain depicts a fresh, distinct stage of one descent, on the model of the
Prodigal who leaves once and falls to the bottom once, not a wandering
re-described. The test for any new stanza is whether it takes the sheep
further down, or, after the turn, further home; if it merely circles, it is
cut.
There is no predetermined length; the poem closes organically when renewed
obedience and the softest answer coincide — the sheep not merely soothed in
the gully but set walking again, which is both the fuller Gospel and the more
satisfying close.
Later addition, July 2026: The Nadir Stanza and the Broken Cycle
A new quintain is inserted after Shepherd’s Refrain 2 and before the stanza of
repentance (which becomes Stanza 4), depicting the sheep’s experience at the
very bottom of the gully. This is licensed by the poem’s own rule that a new
stanza is admissible if it takes the sheep further down; the old Stanza 3 had
compressed the nadir and the repentance into a single quintain, and separating
them gives the desolation room to land before the turn.
This new cycle breaks the established pattern deliberately: the quintain and
the sheep’s refrain (unchanged) are followed not by a Shepherd’s refrain but
by a reflection on Psalm 130, spoken in the sheep’s voice. This is the poem’s
only irregular cycle, and its force depends on that singularity — it must not
be repeated elsewhere.
The break enacts the sheep’s inability to hear the Shepherd at the nadir. This
must not be allowed to read as the Shepherd’s actual absence, which Shepherd’s
Refrain 2 has assured against in advance (“I am nearer”) and the Shepherd’s
third refrain will answer retrospectively (“I will not leave you in the
deep”). The absence is the sheep’s felt experience, not the poem’s claim.
Psalm 130 is chosen over Psalm 22 (too specifically messianic to place in the
sheep’s mouth) and Psalm 40 (written in retrospect, from within the good
pasture, in the past tense of a deliverance already accomplished — wrong tense
for a sheep still in the pit). Psalm 130 was preferred to Psalm 42–43 and
Psalm 13 for its penitential character, fitting to the sheep who is a stanza
away from repenting outright.
The reflection must not pre-empt the repentance of the following stanza. Psalm
130’s “if thou, LORD, shouldest mark iniquities, who shall stand?” is an
acknowledgement of universal sinfulness and of God’s readiness to forgive, not
a first-person confession of particular sin — this distinction is what keeps
the reflection short of the repentance that Stanza 4 alone should deliver.
The reflection should dwell in the psalm’s opening cry and its “who shall
stand?” tension rather than moving quickly to the psalm’s own settled hope and
confident waiting. Psalm 130 is, in its own right, spoken by someone composed
enough to keep speaking and wait in hope, which sits in tension with a sheep
meant to feel unheard; lingering in the cry before any turn to hope preserves
the nadir’s weight.
The reflection should be structured to sound distinct from both established
voices: not the sheep’s fixed, hypocrisy-declaring refrain, and not the
Shepherd’s assonant, address-first refrains. Its formal strangeness is part of
what marks this cycle as the exception.
To this end, the relection uses free verse, but preserves the first-person,
direct address throughout, and avoids any line that describes the sheep rather
than being spoken as the sheep.
A small verbal link is available between this reflection and the surrounding
stanzas: Psalm 130’s “wait for the LORD… more than they that watch for the
morning” pairs naturally with the “cold and starless night” already present in
the poem, and may be worth echoing lightly to bind the reflection to its
context without resolving its tension too soon.
The First Shepherd’s Refrain
The Shepherd’s first refrain is to a couplet, to leave the most room for
growth.
It is confined to the calling-and-holding phase, plants the home-vowel deeply
for the later reprise, and keeps its second line smooth to offset the rougher,
stress-clustered opening.
Punctuation and Capitalisation
The governing idea is this: the sheep’s voice is punctuated so that it cannot
close itself, and the Shepherd’s voice is punctuated so that it does. The
sheep’s refrain is the confession that never resolves under the Law; its
pointing should trail and break. The Shepherd’s refrains are the grace that
completes; theirs should be firm and fully stopped.
The initial plan was to have the sheep’s voice be written in majuscule, and
use sentence case for the Shepherd’s voice. However, only four line starts
were lowercased in the scheme, which would not have been enough for it to
stand as an obviously intentional scheme. Therefore, sentence case has been
selected for the entire poem; this helps to highlight the intentional
puncuation that helps to differentiate the two voices.
Canis Molestus Warwick Allen Saturday, 20 June 2026
There once was a dog with a terrible habit He'd run off to chase chooks and many a rabbit He'd return at dawn Face his master's scorn But the next chance he'd get, he'd be right back at it
[Verse 1] On bones so bold, On clear display, The skin does fold, 'Tis sickly grey. An ounce of gold For bread won't pay, And hunger's cold, In this dread day.
[Echo 1] The ill favoured and leanfleshed kine Consumed The seven well favoured, fat kine.
[Refrain 1] Is past retold, Or future hoped? Can now be told, Will neck be roped? But this we hold, The words they wrote; The words are old, But now invoked.
[Verse 2] The rain's been driv'n, Far from our eye; We look to heav'n, The empty sky, But nought is giv'n, Despite our cry, In time of sev'n, This day of dry.
[Echo 2] And the withered, thin and blasted Devoured The seven rank and full and good.
[Refrain 2] Is past retold, Or future hoped? Can now be told, Will neck be roped? But this we hold, The words they wrote; The words are old, But now invoked.
[Verse 3] The line we toe, To scarce survive. It's hard to know, Are we alive? This life's so low, Yet we still strive. O where to go For souls to thrive?
[Echo 3] The famine over men prevailed Fields they sold And so the land became the king's.
[Refrain 3] Is past retold, Or future hoped? Can now be told, Will neck be roped? But this we hold, The words they wrote; The words are old, But now invoked.
[Verse 4] In ash and dust, We offer tears; In woes unjust, Through shackled years, We do what must To persevere. We stand, we trust, In face of fear.
[Echo 4] As for the people, he removed To cities From borders' end to other end.
[Refrain 4] Is past retold, Or future hoped? Can now be told, Will neck be roped? But this we hold, The words they wrote; The words are old, But now invoked.
[Verse 5] When spirits thin And hearts do grieve, No hope to win, But by His leave, We'll look to Him, The seed of Eve, Who owns the wind, And sea He cleaves.
[Echo 5] And ye shall know the LORD your God, Which bringeth You out from under Egypt's rod.
[Refrain 5] The past says well, It gives right scope. Yes, now we'll tell, And risk the rope! No buy nor sell, But we can cope; And save from hell, By words of hope.
[Verse 6] An end will come, To days of night; We'll see the One, Who makes us right. Dark days are done, Now bathed in light. We'll see the Son, In all His might.
[Echo 6] We sing unto the LORD, for He Hath triumphed: The horse and rider hath He thrown.
[Coda] The past is old, Our future gain; All now is told, Who overcame; A crown we hold, And new our name. The Word extolled, With Him we reign.
The poem’s title, “Time of Seven,” announces at once its central biblical
preoccupation: the seven years of famine foretold in Pharaoh’s dreams as
interpreted by Joseph in Genesis 41. It is a work self-consciously addressing
the present through the lens of antiquity.
Form and Structure
The poem’s most impressive feature is its architectural complexity. It is
organised into six numbered verses, six biblical “Echoes,” five refrains (of
which the fifth is significantly modified), and a concluding Coda. The
repeating pattern — Verse → Echo → Refrain — mimics the call-and-response
structure of liturgy, or more precisely the antiphonal tradition of Hebrew
psalmody, and this is clearly intentional given the poem’s deep investment in
the Hebrew Bible.
The Verses
Each verse is eight lines of iambic dimeter — two iambic feet per line, giving
four syllables — with an unbroken ABABABABAB alternating rhyme scheme running
throughout. This is a notably compressed and demanding form. The
relentlessness of the alternation, combined with the short line, produces a kind
of percussive monotony that is tonally apt: famine is, above all, repetitive and
wearing. The elisions throughout (“driv’n,” “heav’n,” “giv’n,” “sev’n”) are not
merely metrical conveniences but are consistent with the poem’s deliberate
invocation of archaic, King James–register English.
The rhymes are largely clean and semantically purposeful. In Verse 1, for
instance, “gold” placed alongside “cold” implies the futility of wealth in a
time of famine—a compression that is genuinely effective. Each verse sustains
its ABABABABAB scheme with integrity: “bold/display/fold/grey/gold/pay/cold/day”
in Verse 1; “driv’n/eye/heav’n/sky/giv’n/cry/sev’n/dry” in Verse 2; and so
forth. The pairings carry semantic weight beyond mere formal necessity.
The Echoes
The three-line Echoes are the poem’s most distinctive structural device. Each
is set in italics and drawn from the King James Version of the Bible, arranged
as a tricolon in which a central hinge line of one or two words is bracketed by
two octosyllabic lines. The effect is that of a voice breaking in from the
past—or, given the poem’s deliberate temporal ambiguity, from timeless Scripture
itself. The single-word pivots of the first two Echoes (“Consumed,” “Devoured”)
carry remarkable compression: the force of the devouring is borne by a word
standing entirely alone, as if that word is all that survives the catastrophe it
names.
The Refrain and Its Modification
Refrains 1–4 are identical and function as a sustained hermeneutical question:
“Is past retold, / Or future hoped?” The question refuses to fix the poem’s
meaning to any single historical moment. This is the poem’s sharpest
intellectual move. It advances a typological sensibility—the claim that the
“time of seven” is not merely an episode from Genesis 41 but a recurring pattern
in human history, and perhaps a foretaste of eschatological events yet to come.
The rhyme scheme of the refrain is worth examining. The A rhymes
(“retold/told/hold/old”) are perfectly consistent, but the B
rhymes—“hoped/roped/wrote/invoked”—are not. “Hoped” and “roped” rhyme exactly;
“wrote” and “invoked” are only approximate rhymes. Whether this loosening is
intentional, representing a weakening of formal certainty before the poem’s turn
toward hope, cannot be determined from internal evidence alone, but the effect
exists regardless.
The fifth refrain is where the poem’s argument turns decisively. The
questioning tone of Refrains 1–4 is resolved: “The past says well, / It gives
right scope. / Yes, now we’ll tell, / And risk the rope!” The monosyllabic
“Yes” is the pivot of the entire poem. The willingness to “risk the rope”—which
in the earlier refrains had been a source of fearful uncertainty—is now embraced
as the acknowledged cost of proclamation. This structural decision is among the
most effective in the poem.
Biblical Intertextuality
The sequencing of the Echoes reveals careful theological thinking. They trace a
coherent narrative arc across four books of the Hebrew Bible and into the New
Testament.
Echoes 1 and 2 are drawn from Genesis 41, Pharaoh’s two dreams: the seven lean
kine consuming the seven fat kine, and the seven withered ears devouring the
seven full ears. The KJV language is preserved faithfully (“ill favoured,”
“leanfleshed,” “rank and full”).
Echoes 3 and 4 advance to Genesis 47, the social consequences of the famine
Joseph had predicted: the people sell their land to Pharaoh, and are relocated
to the cities. The narrative has moved from prophetic warning to brutal
realisation; Egypt, through Joseph’s administration, has consolidated absolute
power over a displaced and impoverished populace.
Echo 5 marks the theological pivot. The verse quoted—“And ye shall know the
LORD your God, / Which bringeth / You out from under Egypt’s rod”—is drawn from
Exodus 6:7, God’s promise to Moses before the plagues. The word “Egypt” here
carries doubled resonance: it is at once the historical Egypt of slavery and the
poem’s symbol of any political or economic system that reduces human beings to
instruments. Crucially, the same Egypt that benefited from Joseph’s famine
management has become the Egypt from which God must deliver his people—an irony
the poem allows the sequence of Echoes to imply, without spelling it out.
Echo 6 concludes with the Song of Moses from Exodus 15:1—the triumphant hymn
sung after the crossing of the Red Sea. The movement from Genesis 41 to Exodus
15 is a movement from famine and displacement to deliverance and song.
The Coda then opens into the language of Revelation: the new name (Revelation
2:17), the crown (Revelation 2:10), reigning with Christ (Revelation 22:5), and
the identification of Christ as the eternal Word (John 1:1). The typological
arc is thus Genesis → Exodus → Revelation: the same divine pattern of judgment,
preservation, and ultimate redemption cycling at an eschatological scale.
The Verses in Detail
Verse 1: The Physical Crisis
Verse 1 establishes the literal, bodily reality of famine. Greying skin “On
bones so bold, / On clear display” presents emaciated bodies as a spectacle—not
hidden but openly visible. The paradox of “bold” bones (exposed, prominent)
conveys both physical reality and a kind of terrible dignity. The final
couplet—“An ounce of gold / For bread won’t pay”—with its nod to Ezekiel 7:19,
reduces economic value to absurdity. Wealth becomes meaningless; the poem
establishes at once that this is not merely a material crisis but an ontological
one.
Verse 2: The Environmental Failure
Verse 2 shifts from bodies to the heavens. “The rain’s been driv’n, / Far from
our eye” personifies drought as an active force of withdrawal. The “empty sky”
becomes the focus of desperate prayer (“We look to heav’n, / The empty sky, /
But nought is giv’n, / Despite our cry”), and the title phrase of the “time of
sev’n” anchors the catastrophe to the biblical time-scale. The verse
establishes that this famine is cosmic in scope—not a local failure but a
universal withholding.
Verse 3: The Existential Question
Verse 3 is the poem’s turning point toward theology. It opens with the survival
narrative (“The line we toe, / To scarce survive”) and then poses the essential
question: “Are we alive?” This is not a tautology but a genuine inquiry into
whether mere biological existence constitutes life in any meaningful sense. The
acknowledgment “This life’s so low, / Yet we still strive” is not resignation
but a statement of continued persistence despite everything. The closing
question—“O where to go / For souls to thrive?”—introduces the language of the
soul and pivots the poem toward a spiritual rather than merely material answer.
The “O” carries an exclamatory, lamenting quality that suits the emotional
register. Crucially, this question is one the poem is structurally committed to
answering: the reply arrives in Verse 5 (“We’ll look to Him, / The seed of Eve”)
and the theological resolution unfolds through Echo 5 and the Coda.
Verse 4: The Communal Endurance
Verse 4 is more austere and less visionary. It emphasises communal persistence
rather than hope: “In ash and dust, / We offer tears.” The verse acknowledges
injustice and restrictions (“In woes unjust, / Through shackled years”) but does
not yet point beyond them. Instead, it states what must be done: “We do what
must / To persevere.” The closing couplet—“We stand, we trust, / In face of
fear”—is presented as a statement of fact rather than as achieved faith. The
trust is declared but not yet grounded in revelation. Echo 4, which follows,
shows the social upheaval Joseph’s famine administration produced: the people
are “removed / To cities,” relocated from “borders’ end to other end.” Verse 4
thus sits between the lament of Verse 3 and the theological revelation of Verse
5.
Verse 5: The Spiritual Pivot
Verse 5 transforms the poem’s trajectory entirely. It moves from the question
“Where do we go for souls to thrive?” to an answer: “We’ll look to Him, / The
seed of Eve.” This is the poem’s most overtly theological moment. The phrase
“seed of Eve” refers to Genesis 3:15, the Protoevangelium—the first messianic
promise in Scripture, identifying the coming deliverer as one who will crush the
serpent’s head. By invoking this in the context of a famine poem, the author
aligns deliverance from hunger with the cosmic redemption promised from the very
beginning. The descriptions that follow—“Who owns the wind, / And sea He
cleaves”—compress references to Exodus 14 (the parting of the Red Sea) and the
New Testament accounts of Christ stilling storms. The verse establishes that
the answer to the question posed in Verse 3 is Christ—the incarnate Word who
unites all the salvation narratives from Genesis through Exodus to the eschaton.
Echo 5 confirms this with God’s promise to Moses: “And ye shall know the LORD
your God, / Which bringeth / You out from under Egypt’s rod.”
Verse 6: The Eschatological Vision
Verse 6 completes the arc by opening fully into the future. “An end will come,
/ To days of night” promises resolution. The repetition of “We’ll see”
twice—“We’ll see the One, / Who makes us right” and “We’ll see the Son, / In all
His might”—anticipates the beatific vision. The movement from “dark days” to
light is complete. The reference to the one “Who makes us right” joins the
justification aspect of the promised salvation to the already-established
physical aspect. Echo 6, drawn from the Song of Moses (Exodus 15:1), celebrates
the ultimate triumph: “We sing unto the LORD, for He / Hath triumphed: / The
horse and rider hath He thrown.” This echo mirrors the structure of the poem as
a whole—the famine narratives of Genesis 41–47 find their resolution in the song
of deliverance from Exodus 15.
The Coda: The Crowning Promise
The Coda offers the final word. It returns to a cleaner ABABABAB rhyme scheme
(old/told/hold/extolled paired with gain/overcame/name/reign) with a shift from
the minor B rhyme sounds of the refrains (“hoped/roped/wrote/invoked”) to the
more triumphant “-ain” sound of “gain/overcame/name/reign.” This sonic shift
reinforces the thematic triumph. “The past is old, / Our future gain” states
the typological lesson: what was is now reinterpreted as promise. “All now is
told, / Who overcame” declares that the victory is already (in the
eschatological sense) accomplished. “A crown we hold, / And new our name”
invokes Revelation 2:10 and 2:17—the promise of a crown and a new name. “The
Word extolled, / With Him we reign” identifies Christ as the Word (Logos) of
John 1:1 and promises the believer’s participation in his reign (Revelation
22:5). The poem thus ends not with hope deferred but with present possession
(“we hold,” “we reign”).
Thematic Analysis
The poem’s animating argument is typological: the events of Genesis 41–47 are
not merely a record of a past famine in ancient Egypt but a “type,” in the
theological sense, of any period of civilisational collapse, and ultimately a
figure for the eschatological tribulation of Revelation. The poem does not
argue this discursively; it enacts it through its formal structure and through
the sequencing of its biblical Echoes, refusing throughout to anchor itself to a
specific historical moment.
This typological sensibility answers the central question posed by the refrain:
“Is past retold, / Or future hoped?” The poem’s answer is both. The past is
retold not for its own sake but as a pattern; the future is hoped for because
that pattern has already been written in Scripture and requires only
eschatological fulfilment. The temporal ambiguity of the refrain is resolved by
the logic of typology: what happened to Joseph’s Egypt is happening now and will
happen again at the end of history. The poem thus functions as a kind of
spiritual diagnosis and prognosis: it identifies present suffering within the
biblical pattern of famine and deliverance, and it locates present hope within
the eschatological promise.
The movement of the Echoes from Genesis to Exodus to Revelation enacts this
typological reading. The famine of Genesis 41–47 becomes a figure for all
famines, all displacements, all moments when economic systems reduce human
beings to instruments. The exodus from Egypt becomes a figure for all
deliverance. The consummation promised in Revelation becomes the end toward
which all intermediate deliverances point.
Weaknesses
The poem is not uniformly flawless. Two minor imperfections warrant mention.
In Verse 5, the grammatical subject shifts somewhat awkwardly. The verse opens
with a communal “we”—“When spirits thin / And hearts do grieve”—before pivoting
to a description of the deliverer: “Who owns the wind, / And sea He cleaves.”
The pronoun “He” does not follow cleanly from “Him” three lines earlier; a
reader must navigate the syntactic gap with a small but noticeable effort. The
meaning is recoverable, but the construction is not entirely fluent.
The near-rhymes in the refrain’s B position—“hoped/roped/wrote/invoked”—persist
as a potential weakness, though they may be intentional. “Hoped” and “roped”
rhyme exactly; “wrote” and “invoked” are only approximate rhymes. Whether this
loosening is a calculated device representing a weakening of formal certainty
that precedes the confident resolution of Refrain 5 cannot be determined from
the text itself, but the effect is present regardless.
Conclusion
“Time of Seven” is an ambitious and accomplished poem that largely succeeds on
its own terms. Its formal architecture—iambic dimeter verses interlocked with
italicised biblical Echoes and a repeated refrain whose fifth iteration breaks
and resolves the established pattern—is purposeful and well-executed. The
selection and sequencing of the Echoes is theologically sophisticated: the
movement from Genesis 41 through Genesis 47 to Exodus 6 and 15, concluding in
the Revelation-inflected Coda, traces a coherent eschatological argument that
the poem’s structure reinforces rather than merely illustrates.
The central hermeneutical question—“Is past retold, / Or future hoped?”—is the
poem’s most durable intellectual contribution. It refuses easy historical
localisation and instead advances a typological reading in which ancient Egypt
becomes a perpetual pattern, the Exodus becomes a perpetual promise, and the
present moment is understood as a type awaiting its antitype in Christ. The
poem’s resolution, offered through the modified Refrain 5 and confirmed in Verse
6 and the Coda, is that the answer to the refrain’s question is not either/or
but yes to both: the past is retold as a pattern, and the future is hoped for as
its eschatological fulfilment.
The few remaining weaknesses—a slightly strained pronominal reference in Verse 5
and some approximate rhyming in the refrains—are minor relative to the poem’s
overall ambition and theological coherence. The poem succeeds in doing what it
sets out to do: to read contemporary famine (whether literal or spiritual)
through the lens of Scripture, to insist that suffering follows a pattern
already written in the biblical narrative, and to ground hope not in optimism
but in the promise of an end to darkness and a participation in Christ’s
victory.
