As theirs, the warrior knights of Christian fame,
Who for the Faith led on the battle line,
Who stormed the breach and swept through blood and flame
Under the Cross for sign,
Such was his life's crusade; and, as their death
Inspired in men a purpose pure of taint--
In some great cause to give their latest breath--
So died this soldier-saint.
Nay, his the nobler warfare, since his hands
Set free the thralls of misery and her brood--
Hunger and haunting shame and sin that brands--
And gave them hope renewed.
Bruised souls, and bodies broken by despair,
He healed their heartache and their wounds he dressed,
And drew them, so redeemed, his task to share,
Sworn to the same high quest.
Armed with the Spirit's wisdom for his sword,
His feet with tidings of salvation shod,
He knew no foes save only such as warred
Against the peace of God.
Scorned or acclaimed, he kept his harness bright,
Still, through the darkest hour, untaught to yield
And at the last, his face toward the light,
Fell on the victor's field.
No laurelled blazon rests above his bier,
Yet a great people bows its stricken head
Where he who fought without reproach or fear,
Soldier of Christ, lies dead.
SIR OWEN SEAMAN.
Aug. 28, 1912.
_The War_