Sing me a song of Chivalry,
The little Man-child said.
Of days of old when knights were bold
And fields of honor red.
Take me far to a maiden’s tower
And the black traducer slain;
To Honor and Truth and Faith forsooth--
Oh carry me back again.
So the Waif of Chance be wafted him
And set him down apace,
But never a field of tourney,
And never a knight of grace.
He set him down where the whipping flames
Leap red athwart the sky,
And the crashing wall that forms a pall
Where the fire-fighters lie.
The Waif of Chance he wafted him
Across a broken main,
And the great ship’s roll like a foundering soul
Groaned to the depths again:
But over the breast of the ocean’s crest
The plunging life-boats neared,
And the shout that burst was “Women first,”
And the men that were left--they cheered.
Where the staggering brethren dragged their loads
From the mouth of the stricken mine,
Where the hand at the throttle never flinched
At the sight of the open line;
By curb and forge and death-hung gorge--
By river, sea and plain--
The Waif of Chance the Man-child brought,
And bade him gaze again.
Honor and Faith and Sacrifice
In the midst of the city’s roil--
Faith and Honor and Sacrifice
Where the frontier-hewers toil:
And the Man-child slowly knelt and clasped
The Waif about the knee,
And he murmured low, “Oh now I know--
The Days of Chivalry.”