Twas a holy mystery
In the days of chivalry.
More than pageant was the Rite
In the sight of clod and knight.
Sword and Scepter, Orb and Rod,
Faith in self and faith in God;
Oaths of Homage fiercely flung,
Faith in heart and faith in tongue;—
Gone the things that meaning gave
“With the old world to the grave.”
Knightly faith was born to fade:
Now the Rite is masquerade.
Now a cockney paladin
Winds a penny horn of tin.
Where in reverence heads were bowed
Surges now a careless crowd;
“Muddied oafs” and “flanneled fools”
Jostle “Yanks” with camping stools;—
Gone the things that meaning gave
“With the old world to the grave.”