OF SIX MEDIEVAL WOMEN 



O Thou ! ordained Maid of very God ! 

 Joanna ! born in Fortune's golden hour, 

 On thee the Holy Spirit pours His Flood 

 And His high grace is given thee for dower. 

 Now all great gifts are thine : O blessed be He 

 That lent thee life ! how word my grateful prayer ? 

 No prayer of thine was spoken fruitlessly, 

 O Maid of God ! O Joan ! O Virgin rare ! 



Mark me this portent ! strange beyond all telling ! 



How this despoiled Kingdom stricken lay, 



And no man raised his hand to guard his dwelling, 



Until a Woman came to show the way. 



Until a Woman (since no man dare try) 



Rallied the land and bade the traitors fly. 



Honour to Womankind ! It needs must be 



That God loves Woman, since He fashioned Thee ! 



O strange ! This little maid sixteen years old 

 On whom no harness weigheth overmuch. 

 So strong the little hands ! enduring hold 

 She seemeth fed by that same armour's touch, 

 Nurtured on iron as before her vanish 

 The enemies of her triumphal day ; 

 And this by many men is witnessed ; 

 Yea, many eyes be witness of that fray ! 



Castles and towns, she wins them back for France, 



And France is free again, and this her doing ! 



Never was power given as to her lance ! 



A thousand swords could do no more pursuing. 



Of all staunch men and true she is the Chief, 



Captain and Leader, for that she alone 



Is braver than Achilles the brave Greek. 



All praise be given to God who leadeth Joan ! 





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