 | Poems at Home and Abroad |  |
81
John Ruskin
At Rest, Brantwood, Sunday, 21st January, 1900.
The rose of morning fades, and ghostly pale
The mountains seem to move into the rain;
The leafless hedges sigh, the water-plain
Sobs, and a sound of tears is in the vale;
For he whose voice for right shall never fail,
Whose spirit-sword shall ne'er be drawn in vain—
God's Knight, at rest beyond the touch of pain,
Lies clad in Death's impenetrable mail.
The mountains seem to move into the rain;
The leafless hedges sigh, the water-plain
Sobs, and a sound of tears is in the vale;
For he whose voice for right shall never fail,
Whose spirit-sword shall ne'er be drawn in vain—
God's Knight, at rest beyond the touch of pain,
Lies clad in Death's impenetrable mail.
And all the men whose helmets ever wore
The wild red rose St. George for sign has given
Stand round, and bow the head and feel their swords,
And swear by him who taught them deeds not words;
To fight for Love, till, as in days of yore
Labour have joy, and earth be filled with Heaven.
The wild red rose St. George for sign has given
Stand round, and bow the head and feel their swords,
And swear by him who taught them deeds not words;
To fight for Love, till, as in days of yore
Labour have joy, and earth be filled with Heaven.
| Poems at Home and Abroad | |