Mother of God! as evening falls
  Upon the silent sea.

_ Mother of God! as evening falls
Upon the silent sea,
And shadows veil the mountain walls,
We lift our souls to thee! 
From lurking perils of the night,
The desert’s hidden harms,
From plagues that waste, from blasts that smite,
Defend thy men-at-arms!_

Ay!  Heaven keep them! and ye angel-hosts
That wait with fluttering plumes around the great
White throne of God, guard them from scathe and harm! 
For in your starry records never shone
The memory of desert so great as theirs. 
I hold not first, though peerless else on earth,
That knightly valor, born of gentle blood
And war’s long tutelage, which hath made their name
Blaze like a baleful planet o’er these lands;
Firm seat in saddle, lance unmoved, a hand
Wedding the hilt with death’s persistent grasp;
One-minded rush in fight that naught can stay. 
Not these the highest, though I scorn not these,
But rather offer Heaven with humble heart
The deeds that heaven hath given us arms to do. 
For when God’s smile was with us we were strong
To go like sudden lightning to our mark: 
As on that summer day when Saladin—­
Passing in scorn our host at Antioch,
Who spent the days in revel, and shamed the stars
With nightly scandal—­came with all his host,
Its gay battalia brave with saffron silks,
Flaunting the banners of the Caliphate
Beneath the walls of fair Jerusalem: 
And white and shaking came the Leper-King,
Great Baldwin’s blasted scion, and Tripoli
And I, and twenty score of Temple Knights,
To meet the myriads marshalled by the bright
Untarnished flower of Eastern chivalry;
A moment paused with level-fronting spears
And moveless helms before that shining host,
Whose gay attire abashed the morning light,
And then struck spur and charged, while from the mass
Of rushing terror burst the awful cry,
God and the Temple!  As the avalanche slides
Down Alpine slopes, precipitous, cold and dark,
Unpitying and unwrathful, grinds and crushes
The mountain violets and the valley weeds,
And drags behind a trail of chaos and death;
So burst we on that field, and through and through
The gay battalia brave with saffron silks,
Crushed and abolished every grace and gleam,
And dragged where’er we rode a sinuous track
Of chaos and death, till all the plain was filled
With battered armor, turbaned trunkless heads,
With silken mantles blushing angry gules
And Bagdad’s banners trampled and forlorn. 
And Saladin, stunned and bewildered sore,—­
The greatest prince, save in the grace of God,
That now wears sword,—­mounted his brother’s barb,
And, followed by a half-score followers,
Sped to his castle Shaubec, over against
The cliffs by Ascalon, and there abode: 
And sullenly made order that no more