I see the ever-living forms
In radiance grouped around.
I pray, and songs of thanks and praise
Are more than half my prayer,
With simple notes of music, tuned
To some harmonious air.
I bow before the altar then,
And read, as well I may,
From noble Homer's master-work,
The lesson for the day.
He takes me to the furious fight,
Where lion-warriors throng;
Where god-descended heroes whirl
In iron cars along.
And steeds go down before the cars;
And round the cumbered wheel,
Both friend and foe are rolling now,
all blood from head to heel!
Then comes the champion of them all,
Pelides' friend is he,
And crashes through the dense array,
Though thousands ten they be!
And ever smites that fiery sword
Through helmet, shield, and mail,
Until he falls by craft divine,
Where might could not prevail.
Down from the glorious pile he rolls,
Which he himself had made,
And foemen trample on the limbs
From which they shrank afraid.
