A GALLANT knight went forth to war, To fight the battles of the Lord; And on his breast a cross he bore, And at his side his faithful sword. A solemn vow to heaven he made That cross to wear, that sword to wield, The foremost in the bold crusade That dared the Crescent to the field. He prayed for courage and for might The battle of the Cross to fight, And win the faithful soldier's crown. With eager heart and fiery glance, His good sword's sturdy strokes ne'er tired, But vain the valour of his arm, And vain his name of high renown, For, after many a deed of fame, Wounded and weary, fainting fast, With courage no defeat could quell. They raised him senseless from the ground, Where thick the dead and dying lay, His bleeding limbs with thongs they bound, They thrust him in a noisome cell, With feelings of revengeful hate. But soon upon his gloomy soul The dawn of brighter reason broke ; A better spirit o'er him stole, And words of consolation spoke. For, musing, on his Lord he thought, His Master's praise so loud he sang, His keepers heard the joyful flow With wond'ring ears and awe-struck heart, He spoke of Him who lived of old, And, hearkening to that tale of love, And far and wide around they spread And all the mighty truths he said Then from his tortured hands and feet They loosed each bolt and struck each chain, And offered him an escort fleet To bear him to his home again. They brought him back his trusty sword, Awhile he hesitating stands, Frees from his sword each little stain ; Then grasps it firmly in his hands, And snaps its shining blade in twain. He thanked them for their kind behest, And how henceforth he meant to dwell From that time forth with them he dwelt ; Beside the bed of pain he knelt, Held in his hands the dying head; And long that wondrous tale he told His noble spirit homeward went. |