Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/66

 Before us each cloud fastness breaks; And o'er slant inward wastes of light, And past the moving mirage lakes, And on within the Lord's own sight—

We hunt the chosen of the Lord; And cease not, in wild course elate, Until we see the flaming sword And Gabriel before His gate!

O many a fair and noble prey Falls bitterly beneath our chase; And no man till the judgment day, Hath power to give these burial place;

But down in many a stricken home About the world, for these they mourn; And seek them yet through Christendom In all the lands where they were born.

And oft, when Hell's dread prevalence Is past, and once more to the earth In chains of narrowed human sense We turn,—around our place of birth,