William Walton - The Twelve

I
Without arms or charm of culture
Persons of no importance
From an unimportant Province
They did as the Spirit bid
Went forth into a joyless world
Of swords and rhetoric
To bring it joy

When they heard the Word, some demurred
Some mocked, some were shocked:
But many were stirred and Word spread
Lives long dead were quickened to life;
The sick were healed by the Truth revealed;
Released into peace from the gin of old sin
Men forgot themselves in the glory of the story
Told by the Twelve

Then the Dark Lord, adored by this world
Perceived the threat of the Light to his might
From his throne he spoke to his own
The loud crowd, the sedate engines of State
Were moved by his will to kill it
It was done. One by one
They were caught, tortured, and slain
II

O Lord, my God
Though I forsake thee
Forsake me not
But guide me as I walk
Through the valley of mistrust
And let the cry of my disbelieving absence
Come unto thee
Thou who declared unto Moses:
"I shall be there"

III

Children play about the ancestral graves
For the dead no longer walk
Excellent still in their splendour
Are the antique statues:
But can do neither good nor evil
Beautiful still are the starry heavens:
But our fate is not written there
Holy still is speech
But there is no sacred tongue:
The Truth may be told in all
Twelve as the winds and the months
Are those who taught us these things:
Envisaging each in an oval glory
Let us praise them all with a merry noise