The Song Of Honour

I climbed a hill as light fell short,     And rooks came home in scramble sort,     And filled the trees and flapped and fought     And sang themselves to sleep;     An owl from nowhere with no sound     Swung by and soon was nowhere found,     I heard him calling half-way round,     Holloing loud and deep;     A pair of stars, faint pins of light,     Then many a star, sailed into sight,     And all the stars, the flower of night,     Were round me at a leap;     To tell how still the valleys lay     I heard a watchdog miles away ...     And bells of distant sheep.     I heard no more of bird or bell,     The mastiff in a slumber fell,     I stared into the sky,     As wondering men have always done     Since beauty and the stars were one,     Though none so hard as I.     It seemed, so still the valleys were,     As if the whole world knelt at prayer,     Save me and me alone;     So pure and wide that silence was     I feared to bend a blade of grass,     And there I stood like stone.     There, sharp and sudden, there I heard -     'Ah! some wild lovesick singing bird     Woke singing in the trees?'     'The nightingale and babble-wren     Were in the English greenwood then,     And you heard one of these?'     The babble-wren and nightingale     Sang in the Abyssinian vale     That season of the year!     Yet, true enough, I heard them plain,     I heard them both again, again,     As sharp and sweet and clear     As if the Abyssinian tree     Had thrust a bough across the sea,     Had thrust a bough across to me     With music for my ear!     I heard them both, and oh! I heard     The song of every singing bird     That sings beneath the sky,     And with the song of lark and wren     The song of mountains, moths and men     And seas and rainbows vie!     I heard the universal choir     The Sons of Light exalt their Sire     With universal song,     Earth's lowliest and loudest notes,     Her million times ten million throats     Exalt Him loud and long,     And lips and lungs and tongues of Grace     From every part and every place     Within the shining of His face,     The universal throng.     I heard the hymn of being sound     From every well of honour found     In human sense and soul:     The song of poets when they write     The testament of Beautysprite     Upon a flying scroll,     The song of painters when they take     A burning brush for Beauty's sake     And limn her features whole -     The song of men divinely wise     Who look and see in starry skies     Not stars so much as robins' eyes,     And when these pale away     Hear flocks of shiny pleiades     Among the plums and apple trees     Sing in the summer day -     The song of all both high and low     To some blest vision true,     The song of beggars when they throw     The crust of pity all men owe     To hungry sparrows in the snow,     Old beggars hungry too -     The song of kings of kingdoms when     They rise above their fortune men,     And crown themselves anew, -     The song of courage, heart and will     And gladness in a fight,     Of men who face a hopeless hill     With sparking and delight,     The bells and bells of song that ring     Round banners of a cause or king     From armies bleeding white -     The song of sailors every one     When monstrous tide and tempest run     At ships like bulls at red,     When stately ships are twirled and spun     Like whipping tops and help there's none     And mighty ships ten thousand ton     Go down like lumps of lead -     And song of fighters stern as they     At odds with fortune night and day,     Crammed up in cities grim and grey     As thick as bees in hives,     Hosannas of a lowly throng     Who sing unconscious of their song,     Whose lips are in their lives -     And song of some at holy war     With spells and ghouls more dread by far     Than deadly seas and cities are,     Or hordes of quarrelling kings - -     The song of fighters great and small,     The song of pretty fighters all,     And high heroic things -     The song of lovers - who knows how     Twitched up from place and time     Upon a sigh, a blush, a vow,     A curve or hue of cheek or brow,     Borne up and off from here and now     Into the void sublime!     And crying loves and passions still     In every key from soft to shrill     And numbers never done,     Dog-loyalties to faith and friend,     And loves like Ruth's of old no end,     And intermission none -     And burst on burst for beauty and     For numbers not behind,     From men whose love of motherland     Is like a dog's for one dear hand,     Sole, selfless, boundless, blind -     And song of some with hearts beside     For men and sorrows far and wide,     Who watch the world with pity and pride     And warm to all mankind -     And endless joyous music rise     From children at their play,     And endless soaring lullabies     From happy, happy mothers' eyes,     And answering crows and baby cries,     How many who shall say!     And many a song as wondrous well     With pangs and sweets intolerable     From lonely hearths too gray to tell,     God knows how utter gray!     And song from many a house of care     When pain has forced a footing there     And there's a Darkness on the stair     Will not be turned away -     And song - that song whose singers come     With old kind tales of pity from     The Great Compassion's lips,     That makes the bells of Heaven to peal     Round pillows frosty with the feel     Of Death's cold finger tips -     The song of men all sorts and kinds,     As many tempers, moods and minds     As leaves are on a tree,     As many faiths and castes and creeds,     As many human bloods and breeds     As in the world may be;     The song of each and all who gaze     On Beauty in her naked blaze,     Or see her dimly in a haze,     Or get her light in fitful rays     And tiniest needles even,     The song of all not wholly dark,     Not wholly sunk in stupor stark     Too deep for groping Heaven -     And alleluias sweet and clear     And wild with beauty men mishear,     From choirs of song as near and dear     To Paradise as they,     The everlasting pipe and flute     Of wind and sea and bird and brute,     And lips deaf men imagine mute     In wood and stone and clay;     The music of a lion strong     That shakes a hill a whole night long,     A hill as loud as he,     The twitter of a mouse among     Melodious greenery,     The ruby's and the rainbow's song,     The nightingale's - all three,     The song of life that wells and flows     From every leopard, lark and rose     And everything that gleams or goes     Lack-lustre in the sea.     I heard it all, each, every note     Of every lung and tongue and throat,     Ay, every rhythm and rhyme     Of everything that lives and loves     And upward, ever upward moves     From lowly to sublime!     Earth's multitudinous Sons of Light,     I heard them lift their lyric might     With each and every chanting sprite     That lit the sky that wondrous night     As far as eye could climb!     I heard it all, I heard the whole     Harmonious hymn of being roll     Up through the chapel of my soul     And at the altar die,     And in the awful quiet then     Myself I heard, Amen, Amen,     Amen I heard me cry!     I heard it all, and then although     I caught my flying senses, oh,     A dizzy man was I!     I stood and stared; the sky was lit,     The sky was stars all over it,     I stood, I knew not why,     Without a wish, without a will,     I stood upon that silent hill     And stared into the sky until     My eyes were blind with stars and still     I stared into the sky.