They gently speak in the wind}' weather ; They guide to valley and ridges' end.
The kestrel hovering by day,
And the little owls that call by night,
Bid him be swift and keen as thej', As keen of ear, as swift of sight.
The blackbird sings to him, Brother, brother, If this be the last song you shall sing,
Sing well, for you may not sing another ; Brother, sing."
In dreary doubtful waiting hours,
Before the brazen frenzy starts, The horses show him nobler powers ;
O patient eyes, courageous hearts !
And when the burning moment breaks, And all things else are out of mind,
And only Joy-of-Battle takes
Him by the throat, and makes him blind,
Through joy and blindness he shall know, Not caring much to know, that still
Nor lead nor steel shall reach him, so That it be not the Destined Will.
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