Ballads of Peace in War Part 6

ON THE FIELD OF CORN

Where is the war ye march unto, From the early tents of morn?

And what are the deeds ye hope to do, Brave Grenadiers of Corn?

Pearls of the dew are on your hair, And the jewels of morning light, Pennants of green ye fling to the air, And the tall plumes waving bright.

Gaily away and steady ye go, Never a faltering line: Forward! I follow and try to know Word of your countersign: Hist! The spies of the tyrant sun Eagerly watch your plan, Lavish with bribes of gold, they run Down to your outmost man.

Steady, good lads, go bravely on By the parching hills of pain, An armor of shade ye soon may don And meet the allies of rain: And night in the bivouac hours will sing Praise of the march ye made, And into your pockets good gold will bring, Men of the Green Brigade.

Yea, and upon September's field, When the long campaign is done, With arms up-stacked, your hearts will yield Conquest of rain and sun: The pennants and plumes will then be sere, Your pearls delight no morn, But tents of plenty will bless the year, Brave Grenadiers of Corn.

ALLELUIA HEIGHT

Obedience to the seasons' marshall-rod, That is a law of G.o.d, Here beauty pa.s.ses with her gorgeous train, On paths that range from bud to grain.

O, here the searching eyes In traffic for the soul's good gain Earn wealth of rare delight.

Far pathways of surprise, In color's frumenty bedight, Lead off from avenues of day Through miles of pageantries: And from the starry chancels of the night And the inscrutable farther skies, Beyond where trackless comets stray, Outspreads a world in thought's array.

And lo! the heart's true voices sing From the exulting reverent breast, And lips proclaim, with adoration blessed, Glad Alleluias to the King.

Prompt is our praise unto a jewelled queen In all her courtly splendor set, (Fair as those fairylands are seen By childhood's other sight): But if in pauper mien, Too poor for stray regret Where crowded streets affright She stood in beggary, Unknown, though faithful to her high degree,-- O, then her praise 'twere easy to forget.

Yet ever here, For all of time's prompt fickleness-- From plenteous June and wide largess Of full midsummer days, To dwarf December pitiless Amid the earth's uncomplimented ways-- Yea, constant through the changeful year, This queenly Height commands our praise.

To stand in meek unflinching hardihood When fortune blows its storm of fright, And work to full effect that good Resolved in open days of clearer sight-- O, this is worth!

That daily sees the soul To braver liberties give birth, That heeds not time's annoy, And hears surrounding voices roll Perennial circ.u.mstance of joy.

Then come not only when the springtime blows The old familiar strangeness of its breath Across the long-lain snows, And chants her resurrected songs About the tombs of death; Nor yet when summer glows In roseate throngs And works her plenitude of deeds By tangled dells and waving meads, Come here in beauty's pilgrimage: Nor when the autumn reads Illuminate her page With tints of magicry besprent Of iridescent wonderment-- (As scrolls in old monastic towers, Done in an earnest far-off age).

But choose to come in winter hours To see how character can live, How n.o.ble character will give Through desolate distress And cold neglect's duress, The fulness of its powers And win the soul its victor sign.

Yea, come when in a peasant gown, Amid the ample banners of the pine, And the resounding harpers of the vine, Lone winter holds upon the Height Her court in full renown.

Obedient her courtiers go, Their gonfalons aloft and bright, And scatter pearls of snow; Her st.u.r.dy knighthood wear for crown Prismatic sheen in young delight, And wave the cedar oriflamme on high; While windward heralds cry, Across the battlements of earth To parapets along the sky, The lauds of character's full worth.

The winter pa.s.ses and the days come in Vibrant with spring.

And men find welcome at the Easter tomb, Reward they win, Who make their hearts with courage sing Through Lenten opportunity of gloom: (Not as the Pharisees, With faces lacrimose, Who wear pretence of ashen woes, And murmur like the tuneless bees, Whose honies are hypocrisies), But men of character's delight, Who like this valiant Height Still serving through the bleakest day, With humble offerings of sound and sight, Do steadfast stand and pray: O, count those souls of n.o.ble worth, And G.o.d's good pleasure on His earth, Who still, if joy or pain Brings sun or rain, Heroic sing The law of Alleluia to the King.