These things the high God gave us
And left in the world He made—
Gold for the hilt’s enrichment,
And blue for the sword’s good blade,
And red for the roses a youth may set
On the white brows of a maid.
Green for the cool, sweet gardens
Which stretch about the house,
And the delicate new frondage
The winds of Spring arouse,
And red for the wine which a man may drink
With his fellows in carouse.
Blue and green for the comfort
Of tired hearts and eyes,
And red for that sudden hour which comes
With danger and great emprise,
And white for the honour of God’s throne
When the dead shall all arise.
Gold for the cope and chalice,
For kingly pomp and pride,
And red for the feathers men wear in their caps
When they win a war or a bride,
And red for the robe which they dressed God in
On the bitter day He died.
CECIDIT, CECIDIT BABYLON MAGNA!
THE aimless business of your feet,
Your swinging wheels and piston rods,
The smoke of every sullen street
Have passed away with all your Gods.
For in a meadow far from these
A hodman treads across the loam,
Bearing his solid sanctities
To that strange altar called his home.
I watch the tall, sagacious trees
Turn as the monks do, every one;
The saplings, ardent novices,
Turning with them towards the sun,
That Monstrance held in God’s strong hands,
Burnished in amber and in red;
God, His Own priest, in blessing stands;
The earth, adoring, bows her head.