The moving Grail athwart the starry fields

Where all the heavenly spearmen clashed their

shields.

In dereliction by the deafening shore

We sought no more aloft, but sunk our eyes,

Probing the sea for food, the earth for ore.

Ah, yet had one good soldier of the skies

Burst through the wrack reporting news of them,

How had we run and kissed his garment's hem!

Nay, but he came! Nay, but he stood and cried,

Panting with joy and the fierce fervent race,

"Arm, arm! for Christ returns!"—and all our pride,

Our ancient pride, answered that eager face:

"Repair His battlements!—Your Christ is near!"

And, half in dream, we raised the soldiers' cheer.

Back, as we built, the obscene foe withdrew—

High to the song of hammers sang the hosts

Of Heaven—and lo! the daystar, and a new

Dawn with its chalice and its wind as wine;

And youth was hope, and life once more divine!

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