Too great for pride to dwell there. Tender-souled As that first streak, the harbinger of dawn Revealed through cloudless ether, such the queen, All charity, all humbleness, all grace, All womanhood. Harmonious was her voice, Dulcet her movements, undisguised her thoughts, As though they trod an Eden land unfallen, And needed raiment none. Some heavenly birth Their children seemed, blameless in word and act, The sisters as their brothers frank, and they, Though bolder, not less modest. Kenwalk marked, And marking, mused in silence, 'Contrast strange These Christians with the pagan races round! Something those pagans see not these have seen: Something those pagans hear not these have heard: Doubtless there's much in common. What of that? 'Tis thus 'twixt man and dog; yet knows the dog His master walks in worlds by him not shared-- Perchance for me too there are worlds unknown!' Thus God to Kenwalk shewed the things that bear Of God true witness, seeing in his soul Justice and Judgment, and, with these conjoined, Valour and Truth: for as the architect On tower four-square and solid plants his spire, And not on meads below, though gay with flowers, On those four virtues God the fabric rears Of virtues loftier yet--those three, heaven-born, And pointing heavenward. To those worlds unknown Kenwalk ere long stood nigh. In three short months The loveliest of those children, and last born, Lay cold in death. Old nurses round her wailed: The mighty heart of Kenwalk shook for dread Entering the dim death-chamber. On a bier The maiden lay, the cross upon her breast: Beside her sat her mother, pale as she, Yet calm as pale. When Kenwalk near her drew She lifted from that bier a slender book And read that record of the three days' dead Raised by the Saviour from that death-cave sealed, A living man. Once more she read those words, 'I am the Resurrection and the Life,' Then added, low, with eyes up cast to heaven, 'With Him my child awaits me.' Kenwalk saw; And, what he saw, believing, half believed-- Not more--the things he heard. Yes, half believed; Yet, call it obduracy, call it pride, Call it self-fear, or fear of priestly craft, He closed his ear against the Word Divine: The thing he saw he trusted; nought beyond. Three years went by. Once, when his friend had named The Name all-blessed, Kenwalk frowned. Since then That Name was named no more. O'er hill and dale They chased the wild deer; on the billow breathed Inspiring airs; in hall of joyance trod The mazes of the dance. Then war broke out: Reluctant long King Anna sought the field; Hurled back aggression. Kenwalk, near him still, Watched him with insight keener than his wont,