 | Ballads and Lyrics by Katharine Tynan |  |
77
MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL.
Not woman-faced and sweet, as look
The angels in the picture book;
But terrible in majesty,
More than an army passing by.
The angels in the picture book;
But terrible in majesty,
More than an army passing by.
His hair floats not upon the wind
Like theirs, but curled and closely twined;
Wrought with his aureole, so that none
Shall know the gold curls from the crown.
Like theirs, but curled and closely twined;
Wrought with his aureole, so that none
Shall know the gold curls from the crown.
His wings he hath put away in steel,
He goes mail-clad from head to heel;
Never moon-silver hath outshone
His breast-plate and his morion.
He goes mail-clad from head to heel;
Never moon-silver hath outshone
His breast-plate and his morion.
His brows are like a battlement,
Beautiful, brave, and innocent;
His eyes with fires of battle burn—
On his strong mouth the smile is stern.
Beautiful, brave, and innocent;
His eyes with fires of battle burn—
On his strong mouth the smile is stern.
78
His horse, the horse of Heaven, goes forth,
Bearing him to the South and North,
Neighing far off, as one that sees
The battle over distances.
Bearing him to the South and North,
Neighing far off, as one that sees
The battle over distances.
His fiery sword is never at rest,
His foot is in the stirrup prest;
Through all the world where wrong is done
Michael the Soldier rideth on.
His foot is in the stirrup prest;
Through all the world where wrong is done
Michael the Soldier rideth on.
Michael, Commander! Angels are
That sound the trumpet, and that bear
The banners by the Throne, where is
The King one nameth on one's knees.
That sound the trumpet, and that bear
The banners by the Throne, where is
The King one nameth on one's knees.
Angels there are of peace and prayers,
And them that go with wayfarers,
And them that watch the house of birth,
And them that bring the dead from earth,
And them that go with wayfarers,
And them that watch the house of birth,
And them that bring the dead from earth,
And mine own Angel. Yet I see,
Heading God's army gloriously,
Michael Archangel, like a sun—
Splendid beyond comparison!
Heading God's army gloriously,
Michael Archangel, like a sun—
Splendid beyond comparison!
| Ballads and Lyrics by Katharine Tynan | |