Marching Men

Under the level winter sky
I saw a thousand Christs go by.
They sang an idle song and free
As they went up to calvary.

Careless of eye and coarse of lip,
They marched in holiest fellowship.
That heaven might heal the world, they gave
Their earth-born dreams to deck the grave.

With souls unpurged and steadfast breath
They supped the sacrament of death.
And for each one, far off, apart,
Seven swords have rent a woman's heart.

by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

Other poems of PICKTHALL (82)

Comments (3)

Marching Men is a nice short poetry.
Marching men! With the muse of war! ! Nice piece.
This marching of preachers if reaches heaven it is well and good!