Chant Royal Of High Virtue

Who lives in suit of armour pent         And hides himself behind a wall,     For him is not the great event,         The garland nor the Capitol.     And is God's guerdon less than they?         Nay, moral man, I tell thee Nay:     Nor shall the flaming forts be won         By sneaking negatives alone,     By Lenten fast or Ramazn;         But by the challenge proudly thrown--     Virtue is that becrowns a Man!     God, in His Palace resident         Of Bliss, beheld our sinful ball,     And charged His own Son innocent         Us to redeem from Adam's fall.     "Yet must it be that men Thee slay."     "Yea, tho' it must, must I obey,"     Said Christ; and came, His royal Son,     To die, and dying to atone         For harlot, thief, and publican.     Read on that rood He died upon--         Virtue is that becrowns a Man!     Beneath that rood where He was bent         I saw the world's great captains all     Pass riding home from tournament         Adown the road from Roncesvalles--     Lord Charlemagne, in one array     Lords Caesar, Cyrus, Attila,     Lord Alisaundre of Macedon ...     With flame on lance and habergeon         They passed, and to the rataplan     Of drums gave salutation--         "Virtue is that becrowns a Man!"     Had tall Achilles lounged in tent         For aye, and Xanthus neigh'd in stall,     The towers of Troy had ne'er been shent,         Nor stay'd the dance in Priam's hall.     Bend o'er thy book till thou be grey,     Read, mark, perpend, digest, survey,     Instruct thee deep as Solomon,     One only chapter thou canst con,         One lesson learn, one sentence scan,     One title and one colophon--         Virtue is that becrowns a Man!     High Virtue's best is eloquent         With spur and not with martingall:     Swear not to her thou'rt continent:         BE COURTEOUS, BRAVE, AND LIBERAL.     God fashion'd thee of chosen clay     For service, nor did ever say,     "Deny thee this," "Abstain from yon,"     But to inure thee, thew and bone.         To be confirmd of the clan     That made immortal Marathon--         Virtue is that becrowns a Man!                     ENVOY     Young Knight, the lists are set to-day!     Hereafter shall be time to pray     In sepulture, with hands of stone.     Ride, then! outride the bugle blown!         And gaily dinging down the van,     Charge with a cheer--"Set on! Set on!         Virtue is that becrowns a Man!"