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 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
THE NEW CRUSADE.
Bind the token on thy breast,
Bear the cross upon thy heart,
Stoop not to voluptuous rest,
Toys of science, tricks of art;
Time enough to pause to play,
When the labour thou hast done—
Time to walk the roses' way,
When the weary fight is won;
Thousands even beside thee fall,
And thy fortune may be like,
And now God and duty call,
Strike.
Bear the cross upon thy heart,
Stoop not to voluptuous rest,
Toys of science, tricks of art;
Time enough to pause to play,
When the labour thou hast done—
Time to walk the roses' way,
When the weary fight is won;
Thousands even beside thee fall,
And thy fortune may be like,
And now God and duty call,
Strike.
They are many, they are strong,
And the world upon them smiles,
Smoothes the pathway of the wrong,
Which is glossed by golden wiles;
We are few in numbers, weak,
Not in mercy but in might,
And the tempest gathers bleak,
Turning tops of noon to night;
Yet the Truth is ours, and such
Hath omnipotence to give,
Only they that venture much,
Live.
And the world upon them smiles,
Smoothes the pathway of the wrong,
Which is glossed by golden wiles;
We are few in numbers, weak,
Not in mercy but in might,
And the tempest gathers bleak,
Turning tops of noon to night;
Yet the Truth is ours, and such
Hath omnipotence to give,
Only they that venture much,
Live.
18
Take the tempered shield of faith,
Take the holy sword, that cleaves
Rainbow bubble, silver wraith,
And the fact immortal leaves;
If for frailty be no room,
If for poverty no part,
In the earth's delight and bloom,
Ope to them thy greater heart;
Never for the soul's distress,
Life gave aught but iron glove,
But is pain, our God's caress,
Love.
Take the holy sword, that cleaves
Rainbow bubble, silver wraith,
And the fact immortal leaves;
If for frailty be no room,
If for poverty no part,
In the earth's delight and bloom,
Ope to them thy greater heart;
Never for the soul's distress,
Life gave aught but iron glove,
But is pain, our God's caress,
Love.
Place is not for suffering here,
From the sordid hands of time,
Women falling, sad and sere,
Who disown the dogging crime,
Strive in vain to sunder bars,
Which yet worse than dungeon bind,
Stretching faces to the stars,
For the light they cannot find;
And if thou wouldst truly give
Freedom from the abhorrèd tie,
Thou must first—that they may live—
Die.
From the sordid hands of time,
Women falling, sad and sere,
Who disown the dogging crime,
Strive in vain to sunder bars,
Which yet worse than dungeon bind,
Stretching faces to the stars,
For the light they cannot find;
And if thou wouldst truly give
Freedom from the abhorrèd tie,
Thou must first—that they may live—
Die.
Never sound a note of truce,
Never sheathe the avenging sword,
When sweet falsehood would seduce
Souls repentant from their Lord;
While a tear there is to dry,
And despair weaves ghastly chains,
While a cloud dims any eye,
Or a sorrowing breast remains;
If but one abide the curse,
Which would close from blessèd light,
Be that one Thy universe,
Fight.
Never sheathe the avenging sword,
When sweet falsehood would seduce
Souls repentant from their Lord;
While a tear there is to dry,
And despair weaves ghastly chains,
While a cloud dims any eye,
Or a sorrowing breast remains;
If but one abide the curse,
Which would close from blessèd light,
Be that one Thy universe,
Fight.
Mortal weapons soon must fade,
Soon must pass man's judgment rod,
But the breath of this Crusade,
Is the Spirit of our God;
Human wealth, however sure,
Moth and rust and worm despise,
Mercy's riches will endure,
Bidding fallen wrecks arise;
When the earth has ruin met,
And the suns in darkness grope,
Ours the heaven that cannot set—
Hope.
Soon must pass man's judgment rod,
But the breath of this Crusade,
Is the Spirit of our God;
Human wealth, however sure,
Moth and rust and worm despise,
Mercy's riches will endure,
Bidding fallen wrecks arise;
When the earth has ruin met,
And the suns in darkness grope,
Ours the heaven that cannot set—
Hope.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |