 | Christmas Roses for Nineteen-Hundred and Fourteen |  |
6
False Gods.
Gods of Berserker and Viking, Thor and Odin, rise again;
Loki laughs to see the Red Cock crowing from the cross-topped fane.
Steely-crested waves of battle, breaking in a crimson foam,
Drench with blood the smiling cornland, drown in tears the happy home.
Loki laughs to see the Red Cock crowing from the cross-topped fane.
Steely-crested waves of battle, breaking in a crimson foam,
Drench with blood the smiling cornland, drown in tears the happy home.
Where is resting-place or refuge from the fear that compasseth,
When the heavens drop destruction, and the seas are sown with death?
For the sons of Light are fallen, fall'n thro' pride, as angels fell;
And the Morning-star becometh Lucifer, the Prince of Hell.
When the heavens drop destruction, and the seas are sown with death?
For the sons of Light are fallen, fall'n thro' pride, as angels fell;
And the Morning-star becometh Lucifer, the Prince of Hell.
7
To the false gods of thy fathers bend in vain thy recreant knee!
They who smote Napoleon's eagles will not flinch for thine or thee!
Now of forty years of iron, Europe sees thro' tears the end:
As a foe we fear no longer, though we feared thee as a friend.
They who smote Napoleon's eagles will not flinch for thine or thee!
Now of forty years of iron, Europe sees thro' tears the end:
As a foe we fear no longer, though we feared thee as a friend.
Often have we half believed thee, fain to grasp the grisly hand,
Steel-enwrapped, that hid Death's fingers—trust the mask-face smiling bland.
Fallen is that mask for ever—full revealed the felon head,
And the proud-winged Prussian eagle prov'n a vulture, carrion-fed.
Steel-enwrapped, that hid Death's fingers—trust the mask-face smiling bland.
Fallen is that mask for ever—full revealed the felon head,
And the proud-winged Prussian eagle prov'n a vulture, carrion-fed.
As the day of Armageddon deadly shall the conflict be.
Flesh is clothing—breath is quickening—the dry bones of chivalry.
Arthur rides again to battle; there is Galahad the pure;
Loyal Lancelot, gallant Gawain, fight with us: the End is sure.
Flesh is clothing—breath is quickening—the dry bones of chivalry.
8
Loyal Lancelot, gallant Gawain, fight with us: the End is sure.
Sure the victory. Else how vain-imagined are millennial years—
Love victorious—Truth triumphant—ceased the flow of helpless tears!
Sure the End is. Else Eternal Love must come again to die;
Peter shall forswear, and Judas kiss, and Pilate crucify.
Love victorious—Truth triumphant—ceased the flow of helpless tears!
Sure the End is. Else Eternal Love must come again to die;
Peter shall forswear, and Judas kiss, and Pilate crucify.
| Christmas Roses for Nineteen-Hundred and Fourteen | |