The rolling stone-cold plumes, all shadow-bent,
Bearing the frosty ghosts of gallant souls
From fallen forts and earthly cities spent
Ascend from fleshly ash and hellish holes.
The scratched and fallen foes shall lurch to stand;
The silent, broken knights shall stagger high
And seek with vengeful eyes the wicked hand
That sought to quench the sunrise climbing nigh.
Some rise to fight, some rise to heal, and some
Will never rise again. The love-top spins;
The stars hurl by; we pray for kingdom come,
We pray to heaven's hosts to heal our sins.
The smoke a-rises; all collapse to knee
Weeping that goodly God might set them free.