As through the steep
Grey streets we sweep,
Each horse and man a ribbéd fan to scatter all that chaff!
How from the lance-shock and the griding sword
Untwine the still small accents of the Lord?
How hear the Prince of Peace and Lord of Hosts
Speak from the zenith ’mid his marshalled ghosts,
“Vengeance is mine, I will repay;
Cease thou and come away!”
Or having seen and hearkened, how refrain