Till—in one night—the crosses rose like flowers,

Legions of small white crosses, mile on mile,

Pencilled with names that had outfought all pain,

Where every shell-torn acre seems to smile—

Who shall destroy the cross that rose again?

Out of the world's Walpurgis, where hope perished,

Where all the forms of faith in ruin fell,

Where every sign of heaven that earth had cherished

Shrivelled among the lava-floods of hell,

The eternal Cross that conquers might with right