Beauteous on the mountains--lo, The feet of him glad tidings gladly
bringing; The flowers along his pathway grow, And voices, heard aloft,
to angel harps are singing: And strife and slaughter cease Before thy
blessed way, Young Messenger of Peace! O'er the mount, and through the
moor, Glide thy holy steps secure. Day and night no fear thou knowest,
Lonely--but with God thou goest. Where the Heathen rage the fiercest,
Through the armed throng thou piercest. For thy coat of mail, bedight
In thy spotless robe of white. For the sinful sword--thy hand Bearing
bright the silver wand: Through the camp and through the court, Through
the bandit's gloomy fort, On the mission of the dove, Speeds the
minister of love; By a word the wildest taming, And the world to Christ
reclaiming: While, as once the waters trod By the footsteps of thy
God, War, and wrath, and rapine cease, Hush'd round thy charmed path, O
Messenger of Peace!

The stranger to whom these honours were paid was a young, unbearded man,
clothed in white wrought with silver; he was unarmed and barefooted: in
his hand he held a tall silver wand. Montreal and his party halted in
astonishment and wonder, and the Knight, spurring his horse toward the
crowd, confronted the stranger.

"How, friend," quoth the Provencal, "is thine a new order of pilgrims,
or what especial holiness has won thee this homage?"

"Back, back," cried some of the bolder of the crowd, "let not the robber
dare arrest the Messenger of Peace."

Montreal waved his hand disdainfully.

"I speak not to you, good sirs, and the worthy friars in your rear know