THE SWORD
AT the forging of the sword—
The mountain roots were stirred
Like the heart-beats of a bird;
Like flax the tall trees waved,
So fiercely struck the Forgers of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword—
So loud the hammers fell,
The thrice-sealed gates of Hell
Burst wide their glowing jaws;
Deep roaring, at the forging of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword—
Kind mother Earth was rent
Like an Arab's dusky tent,
And monster-like she fed
On her children, at the forging of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword—
The startled air swift whirled
The red flames round the world,
From the anvil where was smitten
The steel the Forgers wrought into the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword—
The maid and matron fled,
And hid them with the dead;
Fierce prophets sang their doom,
More deadly than the wounding of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword—
Swift leaped the quiet hearts
In the meadows and the marts;
The tides of men were drawn
By the gleaming sickle-planet of the Sword!
Thus wert thou forged, O lissome Sword;
On such dusk anvil wert thou wrought;
In such red flames thy metal fused;
From such deep hells that metal brought;
O Sword, dread lord, thou speak'st no word,
But dumbly rul'st, king and lord!
"THESE THREE"
A STAR leant down and laid a silver hand
On the pale brow of death;
Before it roll'd black shadows from the land—
That star was Faith!
Across fierce storms that hid the mountains far
In funeral cope,
Piercing the black there sailed a throbbing star—
The star was Hope!
From God's vast palm a large sun grandly rolled,
O'er land and sea;
Its core of fire, its stretching hands of gold—
Large Charity!