 | The Last Crusade |  |
4
IN THE CONVICTION THAT
THE LOVE AND PRAYERS OF OUR
WOMEN ARE THE EMPIRE'S FIRST
AND LAST LINE OF DEFENCE
7
THE ETERNAL PASSION.
God blessed it from the very first, He knew
The War was holy,
He saw Christ's Passion written in red dew;
While over all in pity and love He threw
His seal on high and lowly.
He drew the sword and cast away the sheath,
And walked in mercy on the strife beneath.
The War was holy,
He saw Christ's Passion written in red dew;
While over all in pity and love He threw
His seal on high and lowly.
He drew the sword and cast away the sheath,
And walked in mercy on the strife beneath.
The Lord of Hosts our Captain is, the blanks
In Him completed
March on in line with the bright angel ranks;
He asks no offering but our humble thanks,
Nor can Love be defeated.
We see His storm-tost banner in the Cross,
Which only wins by sacrifice and loss.
In Him completed
March on in line with the bright angel ranks;
He asks no offering but our humble thanks,
Nor can Love be defeated.
We see His storm-tost banner in the Cross,
Which only wins by sacrifice and loss.
A Man of War is God, He builded lands—
Nearness and distance,
Upon the sword He holdeth in His hands;
Yea, death and carnage are but His commands,
That shape worlds by resistance.
Our liberties and all our bulwarks rise
Through ransom blood, that waters Paradise.
Nearness and distance,
Upon the sword He holdeth in His hands;
Yea, death and carnage are but His commands,
That shape worlds by resistance.
Our liberties and all our bulwarks rise
Through ransom blood, that waters Paradise.
He treads the winepress yet Himself alone,
For each affliction
Falls upon Him the first and strikes His throne;
He speaks in thunder, and the cannon's tone
Now tolls His crucifixion.
Again He suffers and delights to die
In awful pangs, and seeks His Calvary.
For each affliction
Falls upon Him the first and strikes His throne;
He speaks in thunder, and the cannon's tone
Now tolls His crucifixion.
Again He suffers and delights to die
In awful pangs, and seeks His Calvary.
8
The graves His pillows are, and He lies down
Where men must sicken,
He wears their sufferings as His thorny crown;
And, when in deep abysses myriads drown,
He too is sorely stricken.
He resteth only on the sword's sharp edge
Before it pierceth, as His privilege.
Where men must sicken,
He wears their sufferings as His thorny crown;
And, when in deep abysses myriads drown,
He too is sorely stricken.
He resteth only on the sword's sharp edge
Before it pierceth, as His privilege.
The woe, the horror are His right, the curse
His chosen guerdon,
He agonizes lest we suffer worse;
For the whole travail of the universe
Is His sweet bliss and burden.
Each cruel death or doom is what He bears
For us, His heaven naught but our hell of cares.
His chosen guerdon,
He agonizes lest we suffer worse;
For the whole travail of the universe
Is His sweet bliss and burden.
Each cruel death or doom is what He bears
For us, His heaven naught but our hell of cares.
9
THE WORLD ALTAR.
We have the sense of mortal things and dust,
A touch of human tears
And splendid, spacious fears;
Earth is our mother, and we are close kin
To her with all the sorrow and the sin;
They pierce us like a sword-blade's deadly thrust,
When crownèd sufferers win.
For they, who stand with God on holy mountains,
Have drunk most deeply of the bitter fountains.
A touch of human tears
And splendid, spacious fears;
Earth is our mother, and we are close kin
To her with all the sorrow and the sin;
They pierce us like a sword-blade's deadly thrust,
When crownèd sufferers win.
For they, who stand with God on holy mountains,
Have drunk most deeply of the bitter fountains.
War is the tempest with which Mercy drives
The obscene things away,
Turning to gold brute clay;
Love heals by wounding, and our glorious dead
Build up the Passion with which joy is wed,
Out of the sweetness wrung from martyred lives
That are an altar spread.
For those, who strive to stay the evil forces,
Renew their faith at grand eternal sources.
The obscene things away,
Turning to gold brute clay;
Love heals by wounding, and our glorious dead
Build up the Passion with which joy is wed,
Out of the sweetness wrung from martyred lives
That are an altar spread.
For those, who strive to stay the evil forces,
Renew their faith at grand eternal sources.
By tribulation's crushing shines a path
From shadow grim and shock,
Out of the riven Rock;
Through roar of cannon or the rending steel
That Christ's true soldiers bear but do not feel,
Who struggle in the battle-ground's red wrath
And to His guidance kneel.
There is no better way, no other portal,
Than the great Cross which maketh souls immortal.
From shadow grim and shock,
Out of the riven Rock;
Through roar of cannon or the rending steel
That Christ's true soldiers bear but do not feel,
Who struggle in the battle-ground's red wrath
And to His guidance kneel.
There is no better way, no other portal,
Than the great Cross which maketh souls immortal.
10
Athwart the conflict everlasting runs
Christ's awful conquering march,
Under its fiery arch;
Progress by anguish and against the wind
And that which is most adverse and unkind
Moves on in twilight of eclipsèd suns,
And sorrow steps behind.
But still, beneath the blinding sulphurous curtain
The end draws near, the victory is certain.
Christ's awful conquering march,
Under its fiery arch;
Progress by anguish and against the wind
And that which is most adverse and unkind
Moves on in twilight of eclipsèd suns,
And sorrow steps behind.
But still, beneath the blinding sulphurous curtain
The end draws near, the victory is certain.
God soweth in war's tillage lives of men,
That are the pregnant seed
Of many a fruitful deed;
His plough digs deep and teareth barren soil
To yield at last broad harvest-fields of spoil
And give to ignorant minds a larger ken,
A lamp of deathless oil.
For manhood there is but one perfect measure,
One trust, one truth, and Calvary's one treasure.
That are the pregnant seed
Of many a fruitful deed;
His plough digs deep and teareth barren soil
To yield at last broad harvest-fields of spoil
And give to ignorant minds a larger ken,
A lamp of deathless oil.
For manhood there is but one perfect measure,
One trust, one truth, and Calvary's one treasure.
11
THE MIST OF MORNING.
At early morning, when the spider weaves
Elf cradles out of dew and light and air,
Divinely fair;
While in a rush of radiance every blossom
And every emerald of the lowliest leaves,
To the sun's bosom
Are gathered, and the sea laughs to the air;
Then doth earth's beauty, as her royal robe
Clings to each woman, glorify the globe.
Elf cradles out of dew and light and air,
Divinely fair;
While in a rush of radiance every blossom
And every emerald of the lowliest leaves,
To the sun's bosom
Are gathered, and the sea laughs to the air;
Then doth earth's beauty, as her royal robe
Clings to each woman, glorify the globe.
Then too our Holy War takes meaning fresh,
And we behold the Maker moulding still
Unto His Will
New worlds through battle shock's red revelation;
The mystery of mangled bones and flesh
Finds explanation,
And spirit speaks more clearly out of ill.
Forth from brute thunders and the iron waves,
A miracle of blessing marks the graves.
And we behold the Maker moulding still
Unto His Will
New worlds through battle shock's red revelation;
The mystery of mangled bones and flesh
Finds explanation,
And spirit speaks more clearly out of ill.
Forth from brute thunders and the iron waves,
A miracle of blessing marks the graves.
Yea, and in sunrise at its fullest flood
Sleeps calm of sunset marvellously sweet,
'Midst all the unmeet;
The shadow of God's Presence, who is Neighbour
Unto men rolled in agony and blood,
Falls as in labour
With the death surges foaming at His feet.
Thus far, no farther, may the billows roar
That break in mercy on the Eternal Shore.
Sleeps calm of sunset marvellously sweet,
'Midst all the unmeet;
The shadow of God's Presence, who is Neighbour
Unto men rolled in agony and blood,
Falls as in labour
With the death surges foaming at His feet.
Thus far, no farther, may the billows roar
That break in mercy on the Eternal Shore.
12
For all that is most sacred do we fight,
Freedom and truth, the hearth, the altar flame
Against beast shame;
For women's honour and the unarmed weakness
Of old age, and our children's love and light
In trembling meekness,
And the poor suffering souls for whom Christ came.
Ours is the triumph of the trust, that lies
At the foundation of dear liberties.
Freedom and truth, the hearth, the altar flame
Against beast shame;
For women's honour and the unarmed weakness
Of old age, and our children's love and light
In trembling meekness,
And the poor suffering souls for whom Christ came.
Ours is the triumph of the trust, that lies
At the foundation of dear liberties.
Ah, God is striving for and with us yet,
We guard the solemn rights, the heavenly source
Above fool force;
Ours is the splendid charge of spacious living,
The star that in the darkness never set
Of utmost giving,
And guides the earth along its destined course.
Faith holds the hand that strikes, the ensanguined sword
Is love itself, and sharpened by our Lord.
We guard the solemn rights, the heavenly source
Above fool force;
Ours is the splendid charge of spacious living,
The star that in the darkness never set
Of utmost giving,
And guides the earth along its destined course.
Faith holds the hand that strikes, the ensanguined sword
Is love itself, and sharpened by our Lord.
13
THE MIRACULOUS ARMIES.
Fools deem the age of miracles is dead,
But we behold them
Daily, and hear once more God's awful tread;
He marcheth with us to the battle-line
In power divine,
He ranks our forces and His arms enfold them,
His love their wine and sacramental bread.
The greatest and the least,
They each are summoned to the Bridegroom's feast.
But we behold them
Daily, and hear once more God's awful tread;
He marcheth with us to the battle-line
In power divine,
He ranks our forces and His arms enfold them,
His love their wine and sacramental bread.
The greatest and the least,
They each are summoned to the Bridegroom's feast.
What were the single purpose but His call,
The Spirit's leading
That lifts by many a broken heart and fall?
The dry bones live again, the very tomb
Becomes a womb
Of soldiers who obey the country's pleading
And form new resurrection's iron wall.
Yea, out of quickened dust
We see the rifle rise, the sword-blade's thrust.
The Spirit's leading
That lifts by many a broken heart and fall?
The dry bones live again, the very tomb
Becomes a womb
Of soldiers who obey the country's pleading
And form new resurrection's iron wall.
Yea, out of quickened dust
We see the rifle rise, the sword-blade's thrust.
Where once were only furze and stubborn thorn
Or thwart stern thistle,
Here peaceful flocks or there the huntsman's horn;
Rings out the bugle with its challenge grave
Across the wave,
The khaki grows like weeds, the bayonets bristle,
From every silent bush a man is born.
As though the labouring earth
Were but a cradle for fresh empire's birth.
Or thwart stern thistle,
Here peaceful flocks or there the huntsman's horn;
Rings out the bugle with its challenge grave
Across the wave,
The khaki grows like weeds, the bayonets bristle,
From every silent bush a man is born.
As though the labouring earth
Were but a cradle for fresh empire's birth.
14
We hear the sharpening of the sword, the cry
Of martial orders,
And see proud forms that move as destiny;
One mind, one mouth, one settled purpose runs
Along the guns,
The horse and foot that burst imprisoning borders
And raiseth hearts to deeds of chivalry.
As if the flowing tide
Had come to help its Queen, in subject pride.
Of martial orders,
And see proud forms that move as destiny;
One mind, one mouth, one settled purpose runs
Along the guns,
The horse and foot that burst imprisoning borders
And raiseth hearts to deeds of chivalry.
As if the flowing tide
Had come to help its Queen, in subject pride.
Stirs the whole nation to the trumpet peal
Beyond mere fashion,
That sets on every brow a glorious seal;
The slumbering giant from him rudely shakes
Fetters, and wakes
To discipline of calm and bridled passion,
While all are brothers for the common weal.
Onward the movement swings,
For freedom, to the playing-ground of kings.
Beyond mere fashion,
That sets on every brow a glorious seal;
The slumbering giant from him rudely shakes
Fetters, and wakes
To discipline of calm and bridled passion,
While all are brothers for the common weal.
Onward the movement swings,
For freedom, to the playing-ground of kings.
15
THE RANSOM OF LIBERTY.
Ours are the very greatest things, the dearest,
Bought at a monstrous price
By centuried sacrifice;
But those that seek their God and draw the nearest
Are sifted by fierce flame
To read the Holy Name,
And pass through many a doom to Paradise.
Prerogatives, that never can be lost,
Are seized by crushing Edom
And wrung from every death at awful cost;
Only the brave, the fit, the tempest-tost,
Stand in the gates of Freedom.
Bought at a monstrous price
By centuried sacrifice;
But those that seek their God and draw the nearest
Are sifted by fierce flame
To read the Holy Name,
And pass through many a doom to Paradise.
Prerogatives, that never can be lost,
Are seized by crushing Edom
And wrung from every death at awful cost;
Only the brave, the fit, the tempest-tost,
Stand in the gates of Freedom.
Progress is paid for, not one step that faileth
To ask its ghastly tolls,
The sweated blood of souls;
No prayer, no bribe, no blandishment availeth
To elude the dreadful pangs
Whereon Creation hangs,
Or baulk the penance for the prize and goals.
And Liberty, the grandest of God's boons,
By broken shrine and transom,
Grim glaring nights and darkness of mid noons
And bitter travail of the suns and moons,
Must give in full the ransom.
To ask its ghastly tolls,
The sweated blood of souls;
No prayer, no bribe, no blandishment availeth
To elude the dreadful pangs
Whereon Creation hangs,
Or baulk the penance for the prize and goals.
And Liberty, the grandest of God's boons,
By broken shrine and transom,
Grim glaring nights and darkness of mid noons
And bitter travail of the suns and moons,
Must give in full the ransom.
In terror-stricken Belgium, France, and Flanders,
With old-time beauty sweet
And tread of saintly feet,
Ravin the red beasts, crucifying branders;
The elect to make men strong
Must sing death's evensong,
And pave with lives new Paradise's street.
Not otherwise, at length, we hardly gain
The broad, the eternal charters,
By utter anguish of all stress and strain;
Earth yields fresh fruits by passion and by pain,
The seeds of time are martyrs.
With old-time beauty sweet
And tread of saintly feet,
16
The elect to make men strong
Must sing death's evensong,
And pave with lives new Paradise's street.
Not otherwise, at length, we hardly gain
The broad, the eternal charters,
By utter anguish of all stress and strain;
Earth yields fresh fruits by passion and by pain,
The seeds of time are martyrs.
17
THE OLD MOON IN THE YOUNG MOON'S ARMS.
Great shotted guns
That roar and rend, the butchered baby lisper,
The surgeon's bloody tool that deftly probes
Red lips of wounds, the riddle of the suns;
A blotted globe's
Shadow that through the ranks of sorrow runs,
Women's black trailing skirts with awful whisper.
Dear God, this second birth
Breaks, by infernos, on the troubled earth.
That roar and rend, the butchered baby lisper,
The surgeon's bloody tool that deftly probes
Red lips of wounds, the riddle of the suns;
A blotted globe's
Shadow that through the ranks of sorrow runs,
Women's black trailing skirts with awful whisper.
Dear God, this second birth
Breaks, by infernos, on the troubled earth.
Darkest ere dawn
The mystery of confusion speaks in thunder,
As spirit fights with matter, and brave souls
Sifted by suffering are divinely drawn.
Imperious goals
Summon them to a path with passion strawn,
And purple night by pain is stabbed asunder.
A better and broader age
Comes to its own, through death its heritage.
The mystery of confusion speaks in thunder,
As spirit fights with matter, and brave souls
Sifted by suffering are divinely drawn.
Imperious goals
Summon them to a path with passion strawn,
And purple night by pain is stabbed asunder.
A better and broader age
Comes to its own, through death its heritage.
Freedom with Might
Contends, and lifts its lordly challenge clearer
Above the petty quarrels of the hour,
Empanoplied in its eternal right;
The scarlet flower
Of justice flames up to the heaven of light,
And clothed in Love's sweet cruelty steps nearer.
While Mercy's penal rod
Falls, as the olive branch that sceptres God.
Contends, and lifts its lordly challenge clearer
Above the petty quarrels of the hour,
Empanoplied in its eternal right;
The scarlet flower
Of justice flames up to the heaven of light,
And clothed in Love's sweet cruelty steps nearer.
While Mercy's penal rod
Falls, as the olive branch that sceptres God.
18
Ghastly as graves
And beautiful as is the maiden morning
Shapes the fresh earth from anguish and by fire,
Its banner on the dead and dying waves;
The world's desire
It bursts the bonds of prisoners and slaves,
And haloes them with power and truth's adorning.
The old cosmos dies,
To bloom again and laugh in liberties.
And beautiful as is the maiden morning
Shapes the fresh earth from anguish and by fire,
Its banner on the dead and dying waves;
The world's desire
It bursts the bonds of prisoners and slaves,
And haloes them with power and truth's adorning.
The old cosmos dies,
To bloom again and laugh in liberties.
For always thence
Flow the chief blessings that the years have sought for,
From grief and madness torn and bitter strife
Through blighted hope and blasted innocence;
Thus only life
Blossoms to beauty and omnipotence,
When it is prayed for still and fiercely fought for.
The weeping and the woes
Are but a new creation's travail throes.
Flow the chief blessings that the years have sought for,
From grief and madness torn and bitter strife
Through blighted hope and blasted innocence;
Thus only life
Blossoms to beauty and omnipotence,
When it is prayed for still and fiercely fought for.
The weeping and the woes
Are but a new creation's travail throes.
19
GOOD FRIDAY, 1915, 1916.
Our Lord again is crucified in France,
In Belgium's holy places,
And on the downcast Cross His murderers dance;
Cathedral's calm, each solemn circumstance,
Have lost their reverend graces.
Cattle are stabled in the sacred court,
And of sweet cloisters savages make sport.
In Belgium's holy places,
And on the downcast Cross His murderers dance;
Cathedral's calm, each solemn circumstance,
Have lost their reverend graces.
Cattle are stabled in the sacred court,
And of sweet cloisters savages make sport.
Our Lord to-day is crucified, and spurned
This time by Christians only,
His shrines are blasted and His altars burned;
Christ to the Eternal Passion hath returned,
A Prisoner lost and lonely.
Dethroned, discrowned, He stretches forth blind hands
Pierced by His servants, in those bleeding lands.
This time by Christians only,
His shrines are blasted and His altars burned;
Christ to the Eternal Passion hath returned,
A Prisoner lost and lonely.
Dethroned, discrowned, He stretches forth blind hands
Pierced by His servants, in those bleeding lands.
Our Lord disowned is crucified once more,
Victim and Priest for ever,
He offers up Himself yet as before;
Men curse the Presence that they did adore,
And bonds they now dissever.
He weareth still the crown of thorns, His brow
Pours forth the bloody sweat more fully now
Victim and Priest for ever,
He offers up Himself yet as before;
Men curse the Presence that they did adore,
And bonds they now dissever.
He weareth still the crown of thorns, His brow
Pours forth the bloody sweat more fully now
Our Lord is daily crucified, His cry
Comes from ten thousand crosses,
Though nothing to His butchers who pass by;
Myriads are mingled in His agony,
Though Love rules but by losses.
They know not what they do, and never a spot
Is found where Christ and Calvary are not.
Comes from ten thousand crosses,
Though nothing to His butchers who pass by;
20
Though Love rules but by losses.
They know not what they do, and never a spot
Is found where Christ and Calvary are not.
Red with the blood of virgins and of saints
He feels the knotted scourges,
And staggering to His Throne He falls, He faints;
The smoke of hell goes up to heaven, and taints
Lone lands with fiery surges.
It is His back that bears the judgement rod,
The surf of sadness breaketh against God.
He feels the knotted scourges,
And staggering to His Throne He falls, He faints;
The smoke of hell goes up to heaven, and taints
Lone lands with fiery surges.
It is His back that bears the judgement rod,
The surf of sadness breaketh against God.
He feeleth most not cruel thorn or nail,
But in their hour of trial,
That His own children should so darkly fail;
While wrong and every evil now prevail,
And His dear friend's denial;
That Luther's sons should be the first to hound
Luther's great Master to the slaughter ground.
But in their hour of trial,
That His own children should so darkly fail;
While wrong and every evil now prevail,
And His dear friend's denial;
That Luther's sons should be the first to hound
Luther's great Master to the slaughter ground.
21
SPRING IN WAR-TIME.
A thrill, a thought, a movement, shakes the earth,
Which with it turns and trembles;
Through every province of decay and dearth
It shapes itself in colour and in song
To greet the coming of a brighter birth,
That with all pomp assembles
In pride of petals beautiful and strong.
The crocus changes very dust to gold,
While wrack and refuse take the violet's mould.
Which with it turns and trembles;
Through every province of decay and dearth
It shapes itself in colour and in song
To greet the coming of a brighter birth,
That with all pomp assembles
In pride of petals beautiful and strong.
The crocus changes very dust to gold,
While wrack and refuse take the violet's mould.
The throstle steals its magic from the morn
Upon the lilac swinging,
Behind a lattice-work of woven thorn;
Though red war rages he must play his part
With plumes unruffled, though our breasts are torn,
And set the world a-singing—
To mend with music soft the broken heart.
He pours his passion forth in liquid runs,
The power of moons, the poetry of suns.
Upon the lilac swinging,
Behind a lattice-work of woven thorn;
Though red war rages he must play his part
With plumes unruffled, though our breasts are torn,
And set the world a-singing—
To mend with music soft the broken heart.
He pours his passion forth in liquid runs,
The power of moons, the poetry of suns.
Yea, in the cannon's mouth the robin finds
A shadow and a shelter,
Amid the blasting death a home from winds;
His humble burden chimeth with the blare
Of raucous bugles that with joy it binds,
Despite the iron welter,
And beyond reach of human crime and care
As if in mockery, on his crimson breast
The battle had one bloody moment prest.
A shadow and a shelter,
Amid the blasting death a home from winds;
His humble burden chimeth with the blare
Of raucous bugles that with joy it binds,
Despite the iron welter,
And beyond reach of human crime and care
As if in mockery, on his crimson breast
The battle had one bloody moment prest.
22
SAINT EDITH (MISS CAVELL).
The modern Moloch with blood-dripping jaws,
That Minotaur which wreaks on woman its lust
And holds no sacred pledge of truth or trust,
Battens upon the wreck of outraged laws;
And one enthroned in reverence dear, that draws
The hearts of men and stays the stormiest gust,
Yet bowed her saintly head in damnèd dust
To rise a deathless jewel without flaws.
Saint Edith now we call the soul that gave
Such glory to her God, to faith such pride,
Humanity is greater at her side;
The world alone can be a worthy grave
Of her who died for others, she would save—
She reigns for ever with the Crucified.
That Minotaur which wreaks on woman its lust
And holds no sacred pledge of truth or trust,
Battens upon the wreck of outraged laws;
And one enthroned in reverence dear, that draws
The hearts of men and stays the stormiest gust,
Yet bowed her saintly head in damnèd dust
To rise a deathless jewel without flaws.
Saint Edith now we call the soul that gave
Such glory to her God, to faith such pride,
Humanity is greater at her side;
The world alone can be a worthy grave
Of her who died for others, she would save—
She reigns for ever with the Crucified.
Ah, from her tomb shall rise an enfranchised host
Of martyrs battling for the fair and free,
Young pioneers that bear to every coast
The liberties that are a nation's boast;
And in her light and life the opprest will see
Heaven here on earth, and shameful shadows flee,
By her redemption to the uttermost
Purged till the basest monsters bend the knee.
From her sweet wounds a finer strength will flow
And water all the lands with holy dew
Baptized, and yet to grander summits grow;
Until we find the Eden old and new
In innocence, that hate for ever slew
And love for ever raised from death below.
Of martyrs battling for the fair and free,
Young pioneers that bear to every coast
The liberties that are a nation's boast;
And in her light and life the opprest will see
Heaven here on earth, and shameful shadows flee,
By her redemption to the uttermost
Purged till the basest monsters bend the knee.
From her sweet wounds a finer strength will flow
And water all the lands with holy dew
Baptized, and yet to grander summits grow;
Until we find the Eden old and new
In innocence, that hate for ever slew
And love for ever raised from death below.
23
MRS. CAVELL'S EMPTY CHAIR.
Statesman and noble, half the world, were there—The worker snatched from toil a moment brief
To find an awful reverence and relief;
The dome was dim with masses bowed in prayer,
But the most populous was that Empty Chair,
With all the crowded majesty of grief.
THE BUD'S PERFECTION.
None ever died too soon, none ever can,
God does His duty,
And works through all with the same wondrous plan;
The babe complete is as maturest man,
Each hath his separate beauty.
The infant, that draws but a breath and dies,
Equals in promise the eternities.
God does His duty,
And works through all with the same wondrous plan;
The babe complete is as maturest man,
Each hath his separate beauty.
The infant, that draws but a breath and dies,
Equals in promise the eternities.
The bud hath its perfection and a grace
Big as the blossom,
Though blighted in a moment beyond trace;
The petal, and the planet swept through space,
Alike rest in God's bosom.
Both are fulfilled by ages or an hour,
Infinitude is summed in star or flower.
Big as the blossom,
Though blighted in a moment beyond trace;
The petal, and the planet swept through space,
Alike rest in God's bosom.
Both are fulfilled by ages or an hour,
Infinitude is summed in star or flower.
24
Your only boy, who left you to the night
Of utter sorrow,
Yet liveth on in everlasting light;
He was immortal when he chose the right,
And asked for no to-morrow.
He was not called too soon, despising fears
In one brave act, he lived for crowded years.
Of utter sorrow,
Yet liveth on in everlasting light;
He was immortal when he chose the right,
And asked for no to-morrow.
He was not called too soon, despising fears
In one brave act, he lived for crowded years.
Time and extent and bulk are little worth,
They have no meaning
To souls that see the heaven within the earth;
That feel how death is but a grander birth,
The enfranchised spirit's weaning.
For we are spirit and not flesh, the flame
Our birthright gladly throws aside its frame.
They have no meaning
To souls that see the heaven within the earth;
That feel how death is but a grander birth,
The enfranchised spirit's weaning.
For we are spirit and not flesh, the flame
Our birthright gladly throws aside its frame.
For all lie in God's arms, He bringeth out
By gloom or glory
His purposes in trust or truer doubt;
The pain and grief, which girdle us about,
Are still His own Love-story.
The dreadful doom, the sufferings, are just part
Of the perpetual Cross that stabs His heart.
By gloom or glory
His purposes in trust or truer doubt;
The pain and grief, which girdle us about,
Are still His own Love-story.
The dreadful doom, the sufferings, are just part
Of the perpetual Cross that stabs His heart.
They minister and move for the same end,
The bitter and sweetness
Alike toward new creation strive and tend;
All in a broader revelation blend,
And crowned are with completeness.
The oldest and the youngest, dying, give
Pledges and proof to faith whereby we live.
The bitter and sweetness
Alike toward new creation strive and tend;
All in a broader revelation blend,
And crowned are with completeness.
The oldest and the youngest, dying, give
Pledges and proof to faith whereby we live.
25
THE LARK ON THE BATTLE-FIELD.
Between the roar of the shotted guns,
And within their awful shadows,
The lark on its round of glory runs;
It can only breathe in the light of suns,
It can only see bright meadows.
There is room enough in the raging strife
For a pilgrim soul and the sweet of life.
And within their awful shadows,
The lark on its round of glory runs;
It can only breathe in the light of suns,
It can only see bright meadows.
There is room enough in the raging strife
For a pilgrim soul and the sweet of life.
It is murder here, it is murder there,
And the warrior slays his brother;
Both look to God in a common care,
But the home they seek, that is everywhere,
Means love, and there is no other.
And the passionate song that the lark doth raise
Is a part of love and embodied praise.
And the warrior slays his brother;
Both look to God in a common care,
But the home they seek, that is everywhere,
Means love, and there is no other.
And the passionate song that the lark doth raise
Is a part of love and embodied praise.
It is brown of the soil, and the open sky
Hath taught it the joy of motion,
With pain that begetteth liberty;
From the deeps of a timeless memory
It draws on the year's devotion.
In its happy voice there are all life's pleas,
The plaints of the lands and the laughing seas.
Hath taught it the joy of motion,
With pain that begetteth liberty;
From the deeps of a timeless memory
It draws on the year's devotion.
In its happy voice there are all life's pleas,
The plaints of the lands and the laughing seas.
The eternal strain goeth up to God
Of man, who is yet His fellow,
'Mid a fragrance born of the broken clod;
And with morning dew of a daisied sod,
It is young and rich and mellow.
For it tells of the battle-field and flood,
And its peaceful wings are baptized in blood.
Of man, who is yet His fellow,
'Mid a fragrance born of the broken clod;
And with morning dew of a daisied sod,
It is young and rich and mellow.
26
And its peaceful wings are baptized in blood.
Whatever our lot we must play our part
To the splendid call of duty,
Divine is its end and divine the start;
While its fountains flow from the world's great heart,
And it clothes the climes with beauty.
Heaven cometh down for the earth to share,
And the lark is one with the people's prayer.
To the splendid call of duty,
Divine is its end and divine the start;
While its fountains flow from the world's great heart,
And it clothes the climes with beauty.
Heaven cometh down for the earth to share,
And the lark is one with the people's prayer.
27
THE RED CROSS.
‘Forget also thine own people and thy father's house.’
These do not beg for easy places,
They only would where'er the strife
Blunt on their souls the surgeon's knife;
Easing sore wounds with gentle graces,
They give themselves, their light, their life.
Ah, shine the shadow on their breast,
The truth beneath is loveliest.
They only would where'er the strife
Blunt on their souls the surgeon's knife;
Easing sore wounds with gentle graces,
They give themselves, their light, their life.
Ah, shine the shadow on their breast,
The truth beneath is loveliest.
Within they wear the Cross, it blazes
And burns and hallows the whole heart,
That they may bear a Christly part;
To minister with prayers and praises,
Wherefrom the springs eternal start,
They crave to serve the suffering most,
The lot of peril is their post.
And burns and hallows the whole heart,
That they may bear a Christly part;
To minister with prayers and praises,
Wherefrom the springs eternal start,
They crave to serve the suffering most,
The lot of peril is their post.
These are for Love the Great Forgetters,
For this they carry load and curse,
And choose the weary toil or worse;
They scorn to deem the world their debtors,
Their home is but God's universe.
Worship their work, they offer up
To Him their sacramental cup.
For this they carry load and curse,
And choose the weary toil or worse;
They scorn to deem the world their debtors,
Their home is but God's universe.
Worship their work, they offer up
To Him their sacramental cup.
Theirs not the soiling want of wages
Or hireling's meed, if sorrow cried—
They with the Master have lived and died;
Where the red foam of battle rages,
With Him too they are crucified.
To share the burden or bruises rough
Were honour rich and rank enough.
Or hireling's meed, if sorrow cried—
They with the Master have lived and died;
Where the red foam of battle rages,
With Him too they are crucified.
To share the burden or bruises rough
Were honour rich and rank enough.
28
They have heard the Voice and seen the Vision
And passed behind the fleshly bond,
To the vast heights and deeps beyond;
They have taken thence the grand decision
That faith shall never more despond.
And marcheth in the Red Cross line,
The Man our Brother, Love Divine,
And passed behind the fleshly bond,
To the vast heights and deeps beyond;
They have taken thence the grand decision
That faith shall never more despond.
And marcheth in the Red Cross line,
The Man our Brother, Love Divine,
Above them waves the unseen banner
That waved above the martyrs old,
Made in Christ's heavenly sainted mould;
Theirs lofty might, the lowly manner,
That garner out of pain its gold,
They fight upon their knees, and bring
With them the breath and power of spring.
That waved above the martyrs old,
Made in Christ's heavenly sainted mould;
Theirs lofty might, the lowly manner,
That garner out of pain its gold,
They fight upon their knees, and bring
With them the breath and power of spring.
If from the army a sister falleth,
Others without the thought of thanks
Step forth to fill a thousand blanks;
Sweet souls that feel the Master calleth,
Whose strength alone can steel their ranks.
If cometh life, if cometh loss,
They wear within the saving Cross.
Others without the thought of thanks
Step forth to fill a thousand blanks;
Sweet souls that feel the Master calleth,
Whose strength alone can steel their ranks.
If cometh life, if cometh loss,
They wear within the saving Cross.
29
THE RIDERS OF THE AIR.
Not once or twice the summons came, they heard
The call of Duty—
Its promise, and the one predestined word;
Their hearts as with a trumpet peal were stirred,
And forth they went clothed in immortal beauty.
No currents tidal
And no kind kisses of a favouring breeze
Wafted them, when they voyaged the blue seas;
They sped, as doth the bridegroom to his bridal,
Because they must obey those awful pleas.
The Riders of the Air,
Dreadfully lone and most divinely fair.
The call of Duty—
Its promise, and the one predestined word;
Their hearts as with a trumpet peal were stirred,
And forth they went clothed in immortal beauty.
No currents tidal
And no kind kisses of a favouring breeze
Wafted them, when they voyaged the blue seas;
They sped, as doth the bridegroom to his bridal,
Because they must obey those awful pleas.
The Riders of the Air,
Dreadfully lone and most divinely fair.
One goeth with them, but they heed him not,
A shadow shameless
That over regal splendour casts a spot;
They have no fear, for trial is their lot,
And speed to front him with a spirit tameless.
Of new creation
Their courage is the vital quickening breath,
And he must bravely ride who rides with death;
Ah, each fresh budding-point, each revelation,
Builds on the lives of men trod down beneath.
The Riders of the Air
Sit on a throne, more than a monarch's chair.
A shadow shameless
That over regal splendour casts a spot;
They have no fear, for trial is their lot,
And speed to front him with a spirit tameless.
Of new creation
Their courage is the vital quickening breath,
And he must bravely ride who rides with death;
Ah, each fresh budding-point, each revelation,
Builds on the lives of men trod down beneath.
The Riders of the Air
Sit on a throne, more than a monarch's chair.
The Pioneers of duty dare not swerve,
And sweet is peril
To those whose only glory is to serve;
But for adventure, with its comet curve,
The vine were barren and the cornfield sterile.
By treasure shattered
Come larger worlds and loftier harvest yields,
Paved with bright hopes and broken hearts and shields;
Souls must be given and seed eternal scattered,
For doom and suffering are men's playing-fields.
The Riders of the Air,
Time's last grand triumph—that none need despair.
And sweet is peril
To those whose only glory is to serve;
But for adventure, with its comet curve,
The vine were barren and the cornfield sterile.
30
Come larger worlds and loftier harvest yields,
Paved with bright hopes and broken hearts and shields;
Souls must be given and seed eternal scattered,
For doom and suffering are men's playing-fields.
The Riders of the Air,
Time's last grand triumph—that none need despair.
31
OUR WATCHDOGS
In dim North seas our watchdogs now are waiting,
Who heard afar their stricken brothers' cry;
An empire's charge their glory, and the freighting
A world in agony.
It is an awful vigil that they keep,
Who are the iron guardians of the deep.
Who heard afar their stricken brothers' cry;
An empire's charge their glory, and the freighting
A world in agony.
It is an awful vigil that they keep,
Who are the iron guardians of the deep.
The mother rocks her cradle, to the thunder
And dreadful music of the shot and shell;
For all the bars of right have burst asunder,
While upward rushes hell.
And so our sentinels, an embattled host,
Fulfil their duty stern at peril's post.
And dreadful music of the shot and shell;
For all the bars of right have burst asunder,
While upward rushes hell.
And so our sentinels, an embattled host,
Fulfil their duty stern at peril's post.
Silent and secret do they move or tarry,
And lift the burden that upon them lies;
Keepers of Justice, for with Truth they carry
All nations' liberties.
They tread the pathway that their fathers trod,
And fight for Freedom and the Will of God.
And lift the burden that upon them lies;
Keepers of Justice, for with Truth they carry
All nations' liberties.
They tread the pathway that their fathers trod,
And fight for Freedom and the Will of God.
He is our Vanguard in the stress and sorrow,
We only for His service drew the sword;
He is To-day and He is our To-morrow,
Our Captain and our Lord.
Around the conflict and its grievous cares,
Our women throw the shield of love and prayers.
We only for His service drew the sword;
He is To-day and He is our To-morrow,
Our Captain and our Lord.
Around the conflict and its grievous cares,
Our women throw the shield of love and prayers.
32
Our first and last line in the time of danger,
The soldiers of the Red Cross take their stand;
Ready alike to serve the friend or stranger,
For the one Fatherland.
Unarmed, undaunted by the strife or steel,
It is enough at some bedside to kneel.
The soldiers of the Red Cross take their stand;
Ready alike to serve the friend or stranger,
For the one Fatherland.
Unarmed, undaunted by the strife or steel,
It is enough at some bedside to kneel.
They only ask to suffer, as the warders
Within a world of passion and of pain,
They minister to wounds, and hold the borders
That bridge great gulfs again.
They know no frontier but the place of need,
And with the sufferers their hearts also bleed.
Within a world of passion and of pain,
They minister to wounds, and hold the borders
That bridge great gulfs again.
They know no frontier but the place of need,
And with the sufferers their hearts also bleed.
Even children rally round the faith our banner,
Which ever was a fortress and a shrine;
While baby offerings, in the good old manner,
Join in the work divine.
The helpless help, the pauper gives his pence,
And frailty's trust is our omnipotence.
Which ever was a fortress and a shrine;
While baby offerings, in the good old manner,
Join in the work divine.
The helpless help, the pauper gives his pence,
And frailty's trust is our omnipotence.
33
THE SAINT AT WAR.
Her days had drunk of beauty at the founts
Where woods in marriage with the waters meet,
And with the breath of wild flowers was she sweet;
The mystery of tall mounts
And freedom in broad spaces
Had on her features left their loveliest traces,
With all that charms of poetry and counts.
She moved to fairy sounds that glance and gleam,
And sights that murmur like a distant dream.
Where woods in marriage with the waters meet,
And with the breath of wild flowers was she sweet;
The mystery of tall mounts
And freedom in broad spaces
Had on her features left their loveliest traces,
With all that charms of poetry and counts.
She moved to fairy sounds that glance and gleam,
And sights that murmur like a distant dream.
Her springs are planted deep in Nature's roots,
She gathers of shy graces and is fair
With glory of the sunshine and the air;
Of high forbidden fruits
Apart hath she partaken,
And her calm soul to light is shaped and shaken
By blessed storms that bring forth greener shoots.
Both worlds are hers, the open and the sealed,
And in each look and gesture stand revealed.
She gathers of shy graces and is fair
With glory of the sunshine and the air;
Of high forbidden fruits
Apart hath she partaken,
And her calm soul to light is shaped and shaken
By blessed storms that bring forth greener shoots.
Both worlds are hers, the open and the sealed,
And in each look and gesture stand revealed.
Yea, mingled true of life and death and all
Free influences rich that nobly mate,
She enters through the barred and bolted gate;
Hearing the heavenly call,
The pain of holy rapture
That only asks for trust to yield its capture,
And upraise spirit by a splendid fall.
Her clay is gold, her presence is a shrine,
For she doth draw out of the wells Divine.
Free influences rich that nobly mate,
She enters through the barred and bolted gate;
Hearing the heavenly call,
The pain of holy rapture
That only asks for trust to yield its capture,
And upraise spirit by a splendid fall.
Her clay is gold, her presence is a shrine,
For she doth draw out of the wells Divine.
34
Nothing was secret to her heart, which saw
At once the power in promise and through tears
And clouds the victory of the vanquished years;
A halo and an awe
About her breathed, the pureness
Of the eternal in its great secureness.
One with the dower of faiths without a flaw
Dark veilèd vistas clear before her lay,
A broad and trodden track, the world's highway.
At once the power in promise and through tears
And clouds the victory of the vanquished years;
A halo and an awe
About her breathed, the pureness
Of the eternal in its great secureness.
One with the dower of faiths without a flaw
Dark veilèd vistas clear before her lay,
A broad and trodden track, the world's highway.
War only drew her nearer to the heart
Of all that is most sacred and the best,
And claspt her closer to the Father's breast;
Its iron dim, the dart
Had pierced Him in creation
First with the pangs of a fresh revelation
And brought the balm that was its vital part.
And in the voice of vengeance, yet she heard
The call of Love—God's last and greatest word
Of all that is most sacred and the best,
And claspt her closer to the Father's breast;
Its iron dim, the dart
Had pierced Him in creation
First with the pangs of a fresh revelation
And brought the balm that was its vital part.
And in the voice of vengeance, yet she heard
The call of Love—God's last and greatest word
35
PATIENCE, A RED CROSS NURSE.
Throbbed in her voice the note of summer seas,
Washing of distant waters;
The liberty of souls that dwelt at ease,
Pride that was humbled, laughter of poppied leas,
Set her apart—the flower of England's daughters.
From solemn charters Puritan, and sires
Who kept alive the faith like temple fires,
She brought the passion of her calm grave beauty;
And, through a veil of virginal desires,
First claimed the call of Duty.
The shyness of that face was surely lit
At ancient altars and thoughts infinite.
Washing of distant waters;
The liberty of souls that dwelt at ease,
Pride that was humbled, laughter of poppied leas,
Set her apart—the flower of England's daughters.
From solemn charters Puritan, and sires
Who kept alive the faith like temple fires,
She brought the passion of her calm grave beauty;
And, through a veil of virginal desires,
First claimed the call of Duty.
The shyness of that face was surely lit
At ancient altars and thoughts infinite.
There is no strength as this of rapt repose,
Fed on immortal diet;
The might of stars, the magic of the rose,
Splendour of dreams which with all heaven unclose,
Met in her gaze and lent its queenly quiet.
Levers past outlooks human, eternal springs
Whereto the world at its foundation clings,
The giant pulsing of deep central sources;
These gave that awful dower, far above kings,
And blent with cosmic forces.
Yet nothing gentler came to joyous birth,
Than those white hands which could have moulded earth.
Fed on immortal diet;
The might of stars, the magic of the rose,
Splendour of dreams which with all heaven unclose,
Met in her gaze and lent its queenly quiet.
Levers past outlooks human, eternal springs
Whereto the world at its foundation clings,
The giant pulsing of deep central sources;
These gave that awful dower, far above kings,
And blent with cosmic forces.
Yet nothing gentler came to joyous birth,
Than those white hands which could have moulded earth.
Head of a cloistered nun, dark hair, dark eyes
Haunted with spirit splendour;
The inward glance of secret other skies,
Communed with larger loves and chivalries
Which long had made the one great free surrender.
Cheeks that had stolen the dawn's delicious charm,
Pale lights, and in the rounding of an arm
Dew-drunken blossom curves and shining shadows;
That early freshness, ere loud strife's alarm,
Imparadising meadows.
The sweet preambles of each morning grace.
Unsoiled, undimmed, made springtide of her face.
Haunted with spirit splendour;
36
Communed with larger loves and chivalries
Which long had made the one great free surrender.
Cheeks that had stolen the dawn's delicious charm,
Pale lights, and in the rounding of an arm
Dew-drunken blossom curves and shining shadows;
That early freshness, ere loud strife's alarm,
Imparadising meadows.
The sweet preambles of each morning grace.
Unsoiled, undimmed, made springtide of her face.
Translucent was its veil, I saw God's lamp
Within for ever burning;
Incense of prayer went up, and set a stamp
Divine on all around, the roar, the tramp
Of thunder-throated streets, with upward yearning.
Spoke from her while unconscious the old spell,
That spacious gift which first on Eden fell
But passed not quite, and haloes life's new story;
Taught by the brook, and on the lily's bell
Rocked unto rest and glory.
I marked how the creation hangs and hung
On the pure breath of vestal maidens young.
Within for ever burning;
Incense of prayer went up, and set a stamp
Divine on all around, the roar, the tramp
Of thunder-throated streets, with upward yearning.
Spoke from her while unconscious the old spell,
That spacious gift which first on Eden fell
But passed not quite, and haloes life's new story;
Taught by the brook, and on the lily's bell
Rocked unto rest and glory.
I marked how the creation hangs and hung
On the pure breath of vestal maidens young.
37
A HYMN IN TIME OF WAR.
God of our fathers, Lord of Hosts,
The Light, a Shadow, and a Shield,
Be Thou the rampart of our coasts,
The front line of our battle-field.
Our Heaven and Home, to Thee we bow,
Hear and defend Thy servants now.
The Light, a Shadow, and a Shield,
Be Thou the rampart of our coasts,
The front line of our battle-field.
Our Heaven and Home, to Thee we bow,
Hear and defend Thy servants now.
What are these iron walls, unless
Thy guardian Presence with us go,
And lead us forth in righteousness
Twice-armed with Thee against the foe?
Thou art the Bulwark of our land,
Wherein we rest, whereby we stand.
Thy guardian Presence with us go,
And lead us forth in righteousness
Twice-armed with Thee against the foe?
Thou art the Bulwark of our land,
Wherein we rest, whereby we stand.
Lord, in Thy guidance do we trust
Alone and offer up to Thee
Our love and life, because we must,
And in Thy Freedom are made free.
Bends over us, like the blue skies,
Thy glory breathed in liberties.
Alone and offer up to Thee
Our love and life, because we must,
And in Thy Freedom are made free.
Bends over us, like the blue skies,
Thy glory breathed in liberties.
Shoulder to shoulder will we face
Whatever comes, that cannot harm
Thy soldiers girt with God's embrace
And holden safely by Thine arm.
For Thee fresh laurels would we twine,
The honour and the victory Thine.
Whatever comes, that cannot harm
Thy soldiers girt with God's embrace
And holden safely by Thine arm.
For Thee fresh laurels would we twine,
The honour and the victory Thine.
Stronger than the most ancient creeds
Thy charters by which men grow great,
Our empire's only title-deeds,
The buttress both of Church and State.
Our Father and our King, our All,
Upon Thy mercies here we fall.
Thy charters by which men grow great,
Our empire's only title-deeds,
The buttress both of Church and State.
Our Father and our King, our All,
Upon Thy mercies here we fall.
38
THE HARVEST OF WAR.
‘Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.’
We thank Thee for the harvest, loving Lord,
Fruits of the blessèd bounty that is Thine
Who badst the sun fall upon it and shine,
To spread for every one a common board;
It is Thy gracious plenty that we hoard
Who gather wealth of goodly corn and wine,
And though our darlings go, and we must pine,
We thank Thee for the harvest of the sword.
Ah, from the furrows of the ruddy earth
A richer and a greater spoil shall rise,
And children made by suffering strong and wise;
Wrought in the furnace of a finer worth
To give the world a new and better birth,
And turn dark streets to paths of Paradise.
Fruits of the blessèd bounty that is Thine
Who badst the sun fall upon it and shine,
To spread for every one a common board;
It is Thy gracious plenty that we hoard
Who gather wealth of goodly corn and wine,
And though our darlings go, and we must pine,
We thank Thee for the harvest of the sword.
Ah, from the furrows of the ruddy earth
A richer and a greater spoil shall rise,
And children made by suffering strong and wise;
Wrought in the furnace of a finer worth
To give the world a new and better birth,
And turn dark streets to paths of Paradise.
We thank Thee for the darlings to us lent
For a sweet season and immortal gain,
That showed Thy heaven was nearer to us bent
And with a rift of glory through it rent;
Oh, they were Thine, not ours, nor treasures vain
But sifting us by throes of precious pain,
To show the Mercy wherefrom they were sent
And tune our spirits to the eternal strain.
We thank Thee for the harvest of the ears
So young and yet so mellowed, by a choice
That in a moment took the stride of years;
We thank Thee that we heard the gallant voice
Which bade us grieve not, but with them rejoice,
And the high faith that conquered doubts and fears.
For a sweet season and immortal gain,
That showed Thy heaven was nearer to us bent
And with a rift of glory through it rent;
Oh, they were Thine, not ours, nor treasures vain
But sifting us by throes of precious pain,
To show the Mercy wherefrom they were sent
And tune our spirits to the eternal strain.
We thank Thee for the harvest of the ears
So young and yet so mellowed, by a choice
That in a moment took the stride of years;
We thank Thee that we heard the gallant voice
Which bade us grieve not, but with them rejoice,
And the high faith that conquered doubts and fears.
39
OUR FIRST AND LAST LINE.
More than the thunder of the ships,
Within whose dreadful shadow lies
The world, when at their iron lips
They mould its deeds and destinies;
Behind the mandate of the Throne
Moving a realm with trumpet tone,
To dare all dazzling chivalries;
Clothed in the strength of history stand
Our women, Empire's corner-stone,
The glory of this English Land.
Within whose dreadful shadow lies
The world, when at their iron lips
They mould its deeds and destinies;
Behind the mandate of the Throne
Moving a realm with trumpet tone,
To dare all dazzling chivalries;
Clothed in the strength of history stand
Our women, Empire's corner-stone,
The glory of this English Land.
More than our argosies that toss
Upon a hundred tides and bring
The grander treasures of the Cross,
Truth's awful message from our King;
That spoil for splendid merchandise
The path of every paradise,
And make the earth their offering;
Haloed by Heaven with sceptred hand
Our regal women do uprise,
The glory of this English Land.
Upon a hundred tides and bring
The grander treasures of the Cross,
Truth's awful message from our King;
That spoil for splendid merchandise
The path of every paradise,
And make the earth their offering;
Haloed by Heaven with sceptred hand
Our regal women do uprise,
The glory of this English Land.
Behind our bulwarks' iron hold,
Crowned with the might of many years,
Grey human eyes and hair of gold
Betwixt us kneel and breath of fears;
They rampart us like the blue sky
With their great love and purity,
In prayers and sweet immortal tears;
Above our petty strife, they stand
On stages of eternity,
The glory of this English Land.
Crowned with the might of many years,
Grey human eyes and hair of gold
Betwixt us kneel and breath of fears;
They rampart us like the blue sky
With their great love and purity,
In prayers and sweet immortal tears;
Above our petty strife, they stand
On stages of eternity,
The glory of this English Land.
| The Last Crusade | |