 | The Last Crusade |  |
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.
| The Last Crusade | |