Page:Patriotic pieces from the Great War, Jones, 1918.djvu/208

204 Then with its thunderbolts of fire it drove

These saints from out their places—breaking roof,

Wall, window, portal—and the great grave arch

Smoked with the awful funeral smoke of doom.

Thus died they and their church—but from the wreck

Of fire and smoke and broken wood and stone

There rose a figure greater far than they—

Their Lord who dwells within no house of hands;

Whose beauty hath no need of any form!

Out from the fire he passed, and round him went

Marie and Jean, and Etienne and François,

And they went singing, singing, through their France—

And Italy—and England—and the world!

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