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