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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
Brethren, arise!
'Tis time we were afoot! What sound was that
In yonder wood? 'Twas like the clash of arms;—
Men spake of bandits late.
Brethren, awake! 'Tis Eve of Whit-Sunday:
Eve of the Birth-day of God's Church on Earth:
His Church Triumphant waits us in the skies.
But we have humbler visitants this hour:
Three thousand late baptized in Borduc's stream—
Thanks to this balmy June nor girl nor boy
Nor sire grey-haired shivered in the water—
We them meet us in yon wood this day
For the Confirmation Rite. Arise. They wait.
'Tis time we were afoot! What sound was that
226
Men spake of bandits late.
Brethren, awake! 'Tis Eve of Whit-Sunday:
Eve of the Birth-day of God's Church on Earth:
His Church Triumphant waits us in the skies.
But we have humbler visitants this hour:
Three thousand late baptized in Borduc's stream—
Thanks to this balmy June nor girl nor boy
Nor sire grey-haired shivered in the water—
We them meet us in yon wood this day
For the Confirmation Rite. Arise. They wait.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |