Acts ix. 16.
As
the song of him who singeth,
Playing
on a harp of
gold,
So
to me was Christ's evangel
In
the days of old.
Thus
across the lake of Constance
Went
I forth to preach His
Word,
And
beside me sat the squire
Of
a noble Lord.
None
in all the ship so knightly,
None
so bravely dight as
he--
"Tell
me," I besought, "thine errand
Yonder
o'er the sea."
"I
go forth," he said, "to gather
Many
a knight and noble
bold;
They
shall tilt at joust and tourney,
Whilst
fair eyes behold.
"And
the bravest and the noblest
He
shall win a glorious
prize,
Smiles
to boot, and courtly favour
In
the ladies' eyes."
"Tell
me what shall be the guerdon?"
"Lo,
the fairest in the
land
Sets
a gold ring on his finger
With
her lily hand."
"Tell
me how the knight may win it?"
"Scars
and bruises must he
boast,
For
the knight shall be the winner
Who
endures the most."
"Tell
me, if when first assaulted,
He
in knightly guise shall
stand,
Shall
he win the golden guerdon
From
his lady's hand?"
"Nay,
right on, till all is over,
Must
a worthy knight hold
on;
Bear
the brunt, and stand a conqueror
When
the fight is done."
"And
if he be wounded sorely,
Will
he weep and will he
mourn?"
"Nay,
in place of winning honour,
He
would win but scorn."
Then
my spirit sank within me,
And
within my heart I
spake--
"O
my Lord, thus fight the knightly
For
their honour's sake.
"Small
the prize, and stern the battle,
Worthless
gain, and weary
fight--
Lord,
a ring of stones most precious
Hast
thou for Thy knight!
"Oh,
to be the knight of Jesus!
Scorning
pain, and shame, and
loss;
There
the crown, the joy, the glory,
Here,
O Lord, Thy Cross."
Then
I wept, with bitter longing
Thus
the knight of God to
be;
And
the Lord, who saw me weeping,
Gave
the cross to me.
Bitter
pain, and shame, and sorrow
Came
upon me as a
flood--
I
forgot it was the tourney
Of
the knights of God.
And
again I wept, beseeching,
"Take
the Cross, O Lord, from
me!"
Till
a light broke like the morning
Over
the wild sea.
Then
there spake the Voice beloved,
Still
and sweet my heart
within--
"is
it thus, O knight of Jesus,
Thou
the prize wilt win?"
"O
my Lord, the fight is weary--
Weary,
and my heart is
sore!"
"And,"
he answered, "fair the guerdon,
And
for evermore."
"I
have shamed Thee, craven-hearted,
I
have been Thy recreant
knight--
Own
me yet, O Lord, albeit
Weeping
whilst I fight."
"Nay,"
He said; "yet wilt thou shame Me?
Wilt
thou shame thy knightly
guise?
I
would have My angels wonder
At
thy gladsome eyes.
"Need'st
thou pity, knight of Jesus?--
Pity
for thy glorious
hest?
On!
let God and men and angels
See
that thou art blest!
H. Suso.