University of Virginia Library

“DEUS LO VULT!”—GOD WILLS IT!”

THE CRY OF THE CRUSADES. 1095.

To market-cross, to hut and hall, the holy Hermit sped,
With sackcloth on his saintly form, with ashes on his head;
Sore travel-worn and swart, he came, all fiery, from the East;
With wild fierce eyes, and wails and prayers, he burst on fray and feast;

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From the blood-stained ways of pain and dole, that weary pilgrims go,
He came, with tongue that told their shame, with cry that cried their woe;
“Woe! woe!” the holy Peter cried, “for the sights these eyes have seen,
“Where the holy Saints were martyred, where our dear Lord Christ hath been;
“Within His blessèd birth-place, the cursèd brood are found;
“By His dear tomb, they scoff at Him, they call upon Mahound;
“Through Bethlehem's ways, on Olivet, in Nazareth's sad street,
“Through Zion's woeful gateways tread their proud and faithless feet;
“And they who, over sea and land, the pilgrim's staff have borne,
“They bear the unbelievers' stripes, their blows and taunts and scorn;
“These eyes have seen their thousand woes, have heard their suffering cries;
“These hands have dressed their bleeding wounds, have wiped their weeping eyes;
“This heart hath burned, that Christ's dear flock to the accurst should pay
“To look upon the blessèd spot where He, our dear Lord, lay;
“How long shall Thy fierce foes exult and mock Thee, God! how long
“Upon Thy name shall they heap shame, upon Thy servants, wrong!”

In town and way, by night and day, that cry was ever heard,
And, as men hearkened to that voice, their hearts within them stirred;
From town to tower, from tower to town, through palace, hut and hall,
It rang, and Baron, Knight and Squire armed, answering to its call;
Nor burned in high-born breasts alone that fierce and holy ire;
Burgher and serf and villain vile, all felt that raging fire;
Wives, maids and infants drank it in, devoured with holy rage,
And babes their weakness all forgot, and eld knew not its age;
For God and His dear sepulchre, who counteth wounds or loss?
Weak is the heart that will not don, for Christ, His bleeding cross;
Base is the soul that halts or shrinks, that will not tread His path,
That will not hew the heathen down, and deal to them His wrath;
For him who conquers is haut fame and Christ's all blessèd love;
For him who falls assoil from sin and God's high bliss above;

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Whet ye the sword and point the spear; the buckler burnish bright;
Rivet the mail; the charger gird; spur on, God's valiant knight;
Know ye no fear, though thousands threat; through hosts, all fearless, ride;
He arms thy hand; He shields thy head; the Lord is by thy side;
Jerusalem, upon thy walls, His triumphs shall be blown,
His banners waved, His cross be reared, Zion once more His own.