Classic Poem

High amid the dead who give
Better life to those that live,
See where shines the Peasant Maid,
In her hallowed mail arrayed,
Whom the Lord of Peace and War
Sent as on a flaming car,
From her father's fold afar.
Hers the calm supernal faith,
Braving ghastliest looks of death;
For, O! loveliest woodland flower
Ever bruised in stormiest hour!
Guardian saints have nerved thy soul
Battling nations to control;
And the vision-gifted eye,
That, communing with the sky,
Sank when human steps were nigh,
Now, in face of fiend and man,
Must the camp and city scan,
And outspeed the rushing van.