V

Cool-sprinkled with the consecrated wave, That blade was blessed, that it should strike to save; And next, pure hands of youth in hands of age Were held upon the page Of the illuminate missal, full of prayers,-- Rich fields, wherethrough the river of souls has rushed Long, long, to have its passion held and hushed In the breast of that calm sea whereto it fares: And steadfastly the aspirant vow did plight To bear the sword, or break it, for the Right; And living well his life, yet hold it light,-- Yea, for that sovereign sake a worthless thing.