THREE MEN OF TRURO

I

E. W. B.

_Archbishop of Canterbury: sometime the First Bishop
of Truro. October_ 1896

The Church's outpost on a neck of land--
By ebb of faith the foremost left the last--
Dull, starved of hope, we watched the driven sand
Blown through the hour-glass, covering our past,
Counting no hours to our relief--no hail
Across the hills, and on the sea no sail!

Sick of monotonous days we lost account,
In fitful dreams remembering days of old
And nights--th' erect Archangel on the Mount
With sword that drank the dawn; the Vase of Gold
The moving Grail athwart the starry fields
Where all the heavenly spearmen clashed their
shields.

In dereliction by the deafening shore
We sought no more aloft, but sunk our eyes,