<SPAN name="chap009"></SPAN>
<h3> THE SHELLS </h3>
<p class="poem">
O my brave heart! O my strong heart! My sweet heart and gay,<br/>
The soul of me went with you the hour you marched away,<br/>
For surely she is soulless, this woman white, and still,<br/>
Who works with shining metal to make the things that kill.<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
I tremble as I touch them,—so strange they are, and bright;<br/>
Each one will be a comet to break the purple night.<br/>
Grey Fear will ride before it, and Death will ride behind,<br/>
The sound of it will deafen,—the light of it will blind!<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
And whom it meets in passing, but God alone will know;<br/>
Each one will blaze a trail in blood—will hew a road of woe;<br/>
O when the fear is on me, my heart grows faint and cold:—<br/>
I dare not think of what I do,—of what my fingers hold.<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
Then sounds a Voice, "Arise, and make the weapons of the Lord!"<br/>
"He rides upon the whirlwind! He hath need of shell and sword!<br/>
His army is a mighty host—the lovely and the strong,—<br/>
They follow Him to battle, with trumpet and with Song!"<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
O my brave heart! My strong heart! My sweet heart and dear,—<br/>
'Tis not for me to falter,—'Tis not for me to fear—<br/>
Across the utmost barrier—wherever you may be,—<br/>
With joy unspent, and deathless, my soul will follow thee.<br/></p>
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