Their hearts were burning in their breasts br Too hot for curse or cries. br They stared upon the towers that burned br Before their smarting eyes. br br There where, since France began to be, br Anointed kings knelt down, br There where the Maid, the unafraid, br Received her vision's crown, br br The senseless shell with nightmare scream br Burst, and fair fragments fell br Torn from their centuries of peace br As by the rage of hell. br br What help for wrath, what use for wail? br Before a dumb despair br All ancient, high, heroic France br Seemed burning, bleeding there. br br Within, the pillars soar to gloom br Lit by the glimmering Rose; br Spirits of beauty shrined in stone br Afar from mortal woes, br br Hearing not, though their haunted shade br Is stricken, and all around br With splintering flash and brutal crash br The ghostly aisles resound. br br And there, upon the pavement stretched, br The German wounded groan br To see the dropping flames of death br And feel the shells their own. br br Too fierce the fire! Helped by their foes br They stagger out to air. br The green--grey coats are seen, are known br Through all the crowded square. br br Ah, now for vengeance! Deep the groan: br A death--knell! Quietly br Soldiers unsling their rifles, lift br And aim with steady eye. br br But sudden in the hush between br Death and the doomed, there stands br Against those levelled guns a priest, br Gentle, with outstretched hands. br br Be not as guilty as they! he cries ... br Each lets his weapon fall, br As if a vision showed him France br And vengeance vain and small.