Poems (Jackson)/The Magic Armory
O man can shut the open door;Strange hieroglyphs of mystic loreAre writ on it from beam to sill;The gleams and shapes of weapons fillIts silent chambers: field and frayOf centuries have borne awayIts armor to their victories,And yet to-day the armor liesUnstained and bright and whole and good,For each man's utmost hardihood.
THE MAGIC ARMORY.
O man can shut the open door;Strange hieroglyphs of mystic loreAre writ on it from beam to sill;The gleams and shapes of weapons fillIts silent chambers: field and frayOf centuries have borne awayIts armor to their victories,And yet to-day the armor liesUnstained and bright and whole and good,For each man's utmost hardihood.All men go freely out and in,And choose their arms to fight and win;But one man goes with silly hands,And helpless, halting, choosing stands,And from the glittering, deadly steels,Fits him with clumsy sword, and dealsA feeble, witless, useless blow,Which hurts no friend and helps no foe.Close by his side his brother makesSwift choice, unerringly, and takesFrom those same chambers hilt and bladeWith which more magic sword is madeThan that far-famed which armed the handOf Lion-Heart in Eastern land. So fight and fray the centuries,The right and truth with wrong and lies;So men go freely out and in,And choose their arms, and lose and win;And none can shut the open door,All writ with signs of mystic lore,Where weapons stout and old and goodFor each man's utmost hardihoodLie ready, countless, priceless, free,Within the magic armory.