Burnt black in France or mocked on Calvary,

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

[12]Legions of small white crosses, mile on mile,

[12]

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

Rose like a star to lead us through the night.

IV.

How shall the world remember? Men forget:

Our dead are all too many even for Fame!

Man's justice kneels to kings, and pays no debt

To those who never courted her acclaim.

Cheat not your heart with promises to pay

For gifts beyond all price so freely given.

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