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482 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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We could triumph while mourning the brave,
Dead for all that was holy and just, And write, through our tears, on the grave, As we flung down the dust to dust — " They died for their country, but led Her up from the sleep of the dead."
" A million a decade ! " What does it mean?
A nation dying of inner decay — A churchyard silence where life has been — The base of the pyramid crumbling away : A drift of men gone over the sea, A drift of the dead where men should be.
Was it for this ye plighted your word,
Crowned and crownless rulers of men ? Have ye kept faith with your crucified Lord, And fed his sheep till he comes again ? Or fled like hireling shepherds away, Leaving the fold the gaunt wolf's prey?
Have ye given of your purple to cover, Have ye given of your gold to cheer, Have ye given of your love, as a lover Might cherish the bride he held dear, Broken the sacrament-bread to feed Souls and bodies in uttermost need ?
Ye stand at the judgment-bar to-day —
The angels are counting the dead-roll, too; Have ye trod in the pure and perfect way, And ruled for God as the crowned should do ? Count our dead—before angels and men, Ye're judged and doomed by the statist's pen. |
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