Cross and spear, for us did suffer
Crown of thorn.

Then, for Him who rose triumphant
To the heavenly Lamp,
Gird thy sword though night surround thee,
Wild and damp.

When at last, in mortal weakness,
Sword and spear must fall,
Christ, unto Thy Grand Encampment,
Take us all.




The Curl of Gold.



How wildly blows the wintry wind, deep lies the drifting snow
On the hillside, and the roadside, and the valleys down below;
And up the gorge all through last night the rushing storm flew fast,
And there old walls and casements were rattling in the blast.
Lady, I had a dream last night, born of the storm and pain,
I dreamed it was the time of spring; but the clouds were black with rain.
I thought that I was on the bay, a good way out from shore
Alone, and feeling much afraid at the wild tempest's roar,
I tried to reach the distant land, but could not find the way,
And suddenly my boat capsized far out upon the bay.