Heart be stout,
And eye be true;
Good blade out!
And ill shall rue.
Courage, horse!Thou lackst no skill;
Well thy force
Hath matched my will.
For the foeWith fiery breath,
At a blow,
It still in death.
Gently, horse!Tread fearlessly;
‘Tis his corse
That burdens thee.
The sun’s eyeIs fierce at noon;
Thou and I
Will rest full soon.
And new strengthNew work will meet;
Till, at length,
Long rest is sweet.
George MacDonald, Phantastes
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