And as straight as the rock of Stamboul when their cavalry thundered
along:
For the coward was drowned with the brave when our battle sheered up like
a wave,
And the dead to the desert we gave, and the glory to God in our song.



JOSEPH AND MARY



JOSEPH

Mary, art thou the little maid
Who plucked me flowers in Spring?
I know thee not: I feel afraid:
Thou'rt strange this evening.

A sweet and rustic girl I won
What time the woods were green;
No woman with deep eyes that shone,
And the pale brows of a Queen.

MARY (inattentive to his words.)

A stranger came with feet of flame
And told me this strange thing, -
For all I was a village maid
My son should be a King.