By evil glances they are harried,

Maligning throngs beset their way,

Some say an eagle came and carried

Them after birth, from worlds of fay.

They pass their years in quests, as though

From land to land they hoped to see

The country tilled with golden ploughs,

The home of their felicity.

They head for bouts of strength and leave

Their blood on coasts of ashen shale,

Their dexter hand they gladly give

To shield a woman, proud and pale.

In times of bitter need they save,

When angels come with darts of bane

To drive the guilty to the grave—

They suffer for another’s gain.

When gusts of praise like incense leap,

And crowds exalt them with their psalms,

Hosannas and the palms which heap

The road, are false and passing balms.

But late, one evening, they draw near

The castle where the worn are blessed

With holy light, with tranquil cheer

That pledges them eternal rest.

To songs they turn their earthly marches,

In waves of festal sound they share

Transfiguration under arches

Imperishably new and fair.