This mornings Mass was made by the Church Militant. It was here the holiday of All Hallowes. Our broken battalions beaten, Our companies compassed with crime, The shattered soldiery stood. We formed square, outfacing the conquering foe. We drew the rest of our rags around us. We stood straight to the worn-out weapon, at bay. And here, in the dust of defeat and darkness, Surrounded by sorrows and vanquished by sins - All fresh and full-fed and outranging our arms - We, the outworn, the outmatched, the outnumbered, Raised our eyes to the Saints who were safe - and we cheered. They had comfort, were carefree, and could have cheered us From their nest in the nimbus. But no, It was we, the abandoned, the bitter, the beaten, The fighting defeated, unsolaced by Mother or Infant, Who raised a proud cheer - for the Church which had once been Triumphant. All Saints Day, T.H. White
Posted on: Sat, 02 Nov 2013 06:42:24 +0000
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