Michael Villiers, Idealist :: :: University of Virginia Library

There were three:
Red their radiant lips with laughter of the young gods' holy glee;
Sweet their speech, exceeding sweeter than all singers' melody;
And their hair had dewy brightness of the morning of the world,
Like the delicate glow of spring woods all bemavised and bemerled.
In the glory of their manhood, in the splendour of their youth,
Deep they vowed a vow that nothing would they love before the truth;
They would grapple with the horror of the monsters of the fen;
They would fight for truth and set her throned upon the hearts of men.

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You had said, to look upon them, oh, so fair and strong were they,
They had bathed them, soul and body, in the ocean of God's day:
Sin and death could never touch them, time and chance could never mar,
Any more than marish-vapours quench or dim the morning star:
For these three, these lovely comrades, with God's cleanness in their glance,
Came to earth to work their fellows comfort and deliverance.
In your strength, and in your beauty, in your health of body and soul,
Go ye forward, light the darkness, heal the sick and bless the whole!

There were twain:
One was going as he goeth who is king o'er time and pain,
Strong in tested might and proven, after heavy stress and strain.
One was going as he goeth who is weak of heart and limb;
Wind and rain and sun had beaten sore upon the head of him.

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Brave the cheer his comrade gave him, he whose arm he leant upon;
Oft they thought, and spake but seldom, of the comrade who was gone:
Never could I hear his hap, but knew that somehow he had failed—
Failed his comrades and the world; perchance his soul had sometime quailed
For the power of dread illusion born of an imperfect faith,
Cowered and hid her face, and so was phantom-slain by phantom death.
Did he, could he fail because of lust for pleasure, fame, or pelf,
Or ignobly kiss the ground before the image of himself?
Howsoever were the failure, oh, the pity, the pity of it!
Was the lamp gone out for ever once the hand of God had lit?

There is one:
Mountains climbed and rivers forded, there he standeth all alone,
And upon his forehead glows the splendour of the risen sun.
Glorious-browed and stalwart-shouldered, chested deep and mighty-thewed;

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Eyes untired as the king-eagle's in his pride of youth renewed.
Yet the deep clear orbs are tender, and the firmness of the lip
Has the sweetness of the joyaunce and the ruth of comradeship.
Open wide, ye gates of glory, open wide to let him in,
To the Beatific Vision of the souls that fight and win!
Crown the forehead of the victor none nor nought could foil or worst!
First thou art, Ó glorious brother, and the first shall still be first.

There were three:
Only one comes in triumphant? Only one the light shall see?
O my brothers, O my brothers, what is this for you and me?
O my brothers, O my brothers, leave the victor to his gain,
Kiss the foreheads of the vanquished in their numbness and their pain;
One who failed, and one who mourned him, and himself must now be mourned,
Did he stumble, being weary? were his footsteps backward turned?

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Oh, the vanquished! oh, the erring! let the victor bear his crest—
We are glad for those that win, if those that lose we love the best.
What of them, and how, O singer? tell us somewhat of the twain;
Did they never rise from falling? did they nevermore attain?
Did they see the glorious vision? did they only dream the dream?
Did they gain the things that be, or rest in those that only seem?
In the horror of the furnace sevenfold heated were they tried,
And the dross consumed for ever, and the true gold purified?
Gloria Deo for the victor, but for these the vanquished ones,
Speak the word of hope and comfort, love forgives as death condones.
Is infinitude love's measure, and its span eternity?
There is one, you say, O singer; and I tell you, there are three.—
Tears are on your cheek, O singer; answer give you none, nor durst.—
Must the last be last for ever, as the first for ever first?