 | Ballads and Lyrics by Katharine Tynan |  |
139
THE CHAPEL OF THE GRAIL.
O somewhere in this weary world,
Unseen of eyes like yours and mine,
There hides a little secret shrine
In a green wood all flower-empearled:
Shrining the Cup that Christ once kissed,
The Cup that held the Eucharist.
Unseen of eyes like yours and mine,
There hides a little secret shrine
In a green wood all flower-empearled:
Shrining the Cup that Christ once kissed,
The Cup that held the Eucharist.
A chapel very old and hoar
Open to Heaven's sweet wind and rain:
The lancet window's jewelled pane
Spills rose and amethyst on the floor,
And stains with orient dyes and rare
The robe of him who kneeleth there.
Open to Heaven's sweet wind and rain:
The lancet window's jewelled pane
Spills rose and amethyst on the floor,
And stains with orient dyes and rare
The robe of him who kneeleth there.
Joseph this is who, long ago,
Gave to the Lord a sepulchre.
Yea, balsam brought and nard and myrrh,
Gathered from sweetest herbs that grow,
With silkenest sheets that deft hands spin,
To shroud the holy Body in.
Gave to the Lord a sepulchre.
Yea, balsam brought and nard and myrrh,
Gathered from sweetest herbs that grow,
With silkenest sheets that deft hands spin,
To shroud the holy Body in.
140
Therefore he hath the sacred trust
To watch and ward the Blessèd Grail,
While the Earth's centuries fade and fail,
And continents crumble into dust;
He grows not old in heart and limb,
For angels minister to him.
To watch and ward the Blessèd Grail,
While the Earth's centuries fade and fail,
And continents crumble into dust;
He grows not old in heart and limb,
For angels minister to him.
This Chapel where no pilgrims wend
Hath painted in the wall o' the choir,
Tall sheaves of wheat whose leaping fire
Endures through Time without an end:
And yellow wheat and purple fruit
Are carven round the altar's foot.
Hath painted in the wall o' the choir,
Tall sheaves of wheat whose leaping fire
Endures through Time without an end:
And yellow wheat and purple fruit
Are carven round the altar's foot.
About the porch and window's face
Ripe grapes in velvet clusters fall,
The long vines climb the outer wall,
Making green twilight in the place;
And in its jewelled shrine apart
The red Grail pulses like a heart.
Ripe grapes in velvet clusters fall,
The long vines climb the outer wall,
Making green twilight in the place;
And in its jewelled shrine apart
The red Grail pulses like a heart.
Outside are green and solemn woods,
And overhead the brooding sky,
Where joyous song-birds flutter and fly.
White doves croon in these solitudes,
And white deer through green arches stray,
Where hares and squirrels are at play.
And overhead the brooding sky,
Where joyous song-birds flutter and fly.
White doves croon in these solitudes,
And white deer through green arches stray,
Where hares and squirrels are at play.
141
Heavy with honey flies the bee,
The lilies plume their silver wings;
All day a little river sings
Unto its own heart happily;
The tall red roses climb the trees;
There's sudden music on the breeze.
The lilies plume their silver wings;
All day a little river sings
Unto its own heart happily;
The tall red roses climb the trees;
There's sudden music on the breeze.
Sometimes an angel goeth down,
With faint-flushed cheek and glistening curl,
Lightly with feet of rose and pearl,
And the plucked rainbow in his gown,
Around whose hair the glories play,
Whose wings are apple-blooms in May.
With faint-flushed cheek and glistening curl,
Lightly with feet of rose and pearl,
And the plucked rainbow in his gown,
Around whose hair the glories play,
Whose wings are apple-blooms in May.
No mortal man might pass unseen
The sentinels of this Paradise,
Who pace all day with tireless eyes
And feet the encircling hills of green:
His angels keep with fiery sword
The sanctuary of the Lord.
The sentinels of this Paradise,
Who pace all day with tireless eyes
And feet the encircling hills of green:
His angels keep with fiery sword
The sanctuary of the Lord.
Yet if a child might travel there,
(Such an one as your Monica,)
With just such innocent eyes of awe,
Enaureoled with such amber hair,
The flaming sword might harmless fall,
The way lie open at her call.
(Such an one as your Monica,)
With just such innocent eyes of awe,
Enaureoled with such amber hair,
The flaming sword might harmless fall,
The way lie open at her call.
142
But now none finds the secret path;
Not Galahad nor Sir Percivale,
Who once beheld the Blessèd Grail.
In a grey past as old as death:
These wait and dream beside the throne;
And the Lord's secrets are His own.
Not Galahad nor Sir Percivale,
Who once beheld the Blessèd Grail.
In a grey past as old as death:
These wait and dream beside the throne;
And the Lord's secrets are His own.
So in my dream inviolable
Stand wood and chapel ever and aye,
A mile away, a world away,
In Earth or Heaven, who shall tell?
Only if one might find that road
It were perchance the path to God.
Stand wood and chapel ever and aye,
A mile away, a world away,
In Earth or Heaven, who shall tell?
Only if one might find that road
It were perchance the path to God.
| Ballads and Lyrics by Katharine Tynan | |