70
BALLADS OF BATTLE
The hunger of the wolf I have,
And yet, I hunger most for love,
And often have I wept to scan
The misery of my brother-man.
And yet, I hunger most for love,
And often have I wept to scan
The misery of my brother-man.
I hear, within the forest wild,
A whispering: Thou art our child!
And yet, again I hear a call
Within the vast Cathedral.
A whispering: Thou art our child!
And yet, again I hear a call
Within the vast Cathedral.
Oft have I clasped thee in my arms,
And loved thee for thy woman's charms;
Yet have I sought, and seemed to see
And love, a woman's soul in thee!
And loved thee for thy woman's charms;
Yet have I sought, and seemed to see
And love, a woman's soul in thee!
The fleshly lust, the pride of life,
The joyaunce in a selfish strife,
The din of battle in my ear—
And yet a still small voice I hear!
The joyaunce in a selfish strife,
The din of battle in my ear—
And yet a still small voice I hear!
I would not do the thing I would,
I shun the evil, seek the good;
Comes prompting from the past: You must!
And pulls me backward in the dust.
I shun the evil, seek the good;
Comes prompting from the past: You must!
And pulls me backward in the dust.
