God, Who had made you valiant, strong and swift, And maimed you with a bullet long ago, And cleft your riotous ardour with a rift, And checked your youth's tumultuous overflow, Gave back your youth to you, And packed in moments rare and few Achievements manifold And happiness untold, And bade you spring to Death as to a bride, In manhood's ripeness, power and pride, And on your sandals the strong wings of youth. He let you leave a name To shine on the entablatures of truth, For ever: To sound for ever in answering halls of fame. For you soared onwards to that world which rags Of clouds, like tattered flags, Concealed; you reached the walls of chrysolite, The mansions white; And losing all, you gained the civic crown Of that eternal town, Wherein you passed a rightful citizen Of the bright commonwealth ablaze beyond our ken. Surely you found companions meet for you In that high place; You met there face to face Those you had never known, but whom you knew: Knights of the Table Round, And all the very brave, the very true, With chivalry crowned; The captains rare, Courteous and brave beyond our human air; Those who had loved and suffered overmuch, Now free from the world's touch. And with them were the friends of yesterday, Who went before and pointed you the way; And in that place of freshness, light and rest, Where Lancelot and Tristram vigil keep Over their King's long sleep, Surely they made a place for you. Their long-expected guest, Among the chosen few, And welcomed you, their brother and their friend, To that companionship which hath no end. And in the portals of the sacred hall You hear the trumpet's call, At dawn upon the silvery battlement, Re-echo through the deep And bid the sons of God to rise from sleep, And with a shout to hail The sunrise on the city of the Grail: The music that proud Lucifer in Hell Missed more than all the joys that he forwent. You hear the solemn bell At vespers, when the oriflammes are furled; And then you know that somewhere in the world, That shines far-off beneath you like a gem, They think of you, and when you think of them You know that they will wipe away their tears, And cast aside their fears; That they will have it so, And in no otherwise; That it is well with them because they know, With faithful eyes, Fixed forward and turned upwards to the skies, That it is well with you, Among the chosen few, Among the very brave, the very true. * * * * * HERBERT ASQUITH THE VOLUNTEER Here lies the clerk who half his life had spent Toiling at ledgers in a city grey, Thinking that so his days would drift away With no lance broken in life's tournament: Yet ever 'twixt the books and his bright eyes The gleaming eagles of the legions came, And horsemen, charging under phantom skies, Went thundering past beneath the oriflamme.