| Show IA WAiS The Tho army anny ot of the Christian queen Lies ready and In act to spring Just like some lean malignant thinS thing Thil crouches when Is Its pre prey Is seen One heart on one purpose and one will 11 I r Whose bristling bayonets coruscate LIke teth teeth b by ashen hate While the tense silence whIspers lelI killi The le Maxims charged voluble Fierce rage that aches to sputter death Are Jre there the cannon hold bold their breath Foul with the tho sUlphurous threats ot of hel hell I Anti thus time the gente gentle chaplan chaplains prOf pray Lor Lord Oed God on Whom our hopes we sta stay o 0 Thou who or of old the sea DeCor Before Th Thy chosen folk to flee fleo D By Whose command the waves were co tossed Oer Iharos haro mad pursuing host Lord God of vantage ant e heIght Who gayest youth to Moses sIght What time hIs hungry hungo isIon swept Time Promised Land b by allens kept o 0 Thou whose ho e fer fiery breath laId low lowThe Time The accursed wats ot of J Jericho Ort Oo God of battles Lord Let It loose the lightning of Thy sword le lie with Th Thy people nw now a as then For Jesus sake Amen Where yonder dim dimly Smoke The Dutchmen In the mountaIns In number numbers but a folk ColkIn Its In valor alor like n a strong The eons ot of that Whose flashed up In the dak dark Like powder at oppressions spark ark And singed tile the cu cheeks ekl of at tyrant Spain Insolent uncouth Whose rUles ki kill whose ho e hymns ar are I fun sung II in 1 a cousin tongue To English In ls its virile Irle Grat Groat Oed cioti theIr pastors pray pm Whose hoze breath Smote the AS hosts wih with death Who wat wih with DavId when hen he 8 sped O 11 Ills peble pebble nt at hea head Wt We too ar atc stron strong because we tight In the great succor ot of Thy might might Guide Thou our missile straight and nd true thAt smal small stone slone which DavId threw lie De with fh fity people now DS as then I For or Jesus sake Amen Ameni I Al Mi night upon the batte battle plain The wounded shrIek amid ud rave In pain paiD And evermore unto the skies The Tho wals wails of t wounded women rise t AnI And from two thousand years roars re ago ugo lounds sounds nn an awful voice olce of oC ofA wo A cr cry of oC anguish and amid ot of loss From One that hangs upon n a cross And diM dies that pet peace on earth may be beMy My God hast Thou forsaken Me George In N y Journal |
