Marching Men

   Under the level winter sky
   I saw a thousand Christs go by.
   They sang an idle song and free
   As they went up to calvary.
   Careless of eye and coarse of lip,
   They marched in holiest fellowship.
   That heaven might heal the world, they gave
   Their earth-born dreams to deck the grave.
   With souls unpurged and steadfast breath
  They supped the sacrament of death.
  And for each one, far off, apart,
  Seven swords have rent a woman's heart.