Classic Poem

O CAPTAIN of the wars, whence won Ye so great scars?
— In what fight did Ye smite, and what manner was the foe?
Was it on a day of rout they compassed Thee about,
— Or gat Ye these adornings when Ye wrought their overthrow?

" 'Twas on a day of rout they girded Me about,
— They wounded all My brow, and they smote Me through the side:
My hand held no sword when I met their armed horde,
— And the conqueror fell down, and the conquered bruised his pride. "

What is this, unheard before, that the unarmed make war,
— And the slain hath the gain, and the victor hath the rout?
What wars, then, are these, and what the enemies,
— Strange Chief, with the scars of Thy conquest trenched about?

" The Prince I drave forth held the Mount of the North,
— Girt with the guards of flame that roll around the pole.
I drave him with My wars from all his fortress-stars,
— And the sea of death divided that My march might strike its goal.

" In the keep of Northern Guard, many a great demonian sword
— Burns as it turns round the Mount occult, apart:
There is given power and place still for some certain days,
— And his Name would turn the Sun's blood back upon its heart. "

What is Thy Name? O show! — " My Name ye may not know;
— 'Tis a going forth with banners, and a baring of much swords:
But my titles that are high, are they not upon my thigh?
— " King of Kings!" are the words, " Lord of Lords";
— It is written " King of Kings, Lord of Lords." "