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(Out with great mirth that do desire

Hazard of trackless ways,
In with content to wait their watch

And warm before the blaze);

And some return by failing light,

And some in waking dream, For she hears the heels of the dripping ghosts

That ride the rough roof-beam.

Home, they come home from all the ports,

The living and the dead;
The good wife's sons come home again

For her blessing on their head!


The earth is full of anger,

The seas are dark with wrath; The Nations in their harness

Go up against our path! Ere yet we loose the legions

Ere yet we draw the blade, Jehovah of the Thunders,

Lord God of Battles, aid!

High lust and froward bearing,

Proud heart, rebellious browDeaf ear and soul uncaring,

We seek Thy mercy now: The sinner that forswore Thee,

The fool that passed Thee by, Our times are known before Thee

Lord, grant us strength to die!

For those who kneel beside us

At altars not Thine own,
Who lack the lights that guide us,

Lord, let their faith atone;
If wrong we did to call them,

By honour bound they came;
Let not Thy wrath befall them,

But deal to us the blame.

From panic, pride, and terror,

Revenge that knows no rein-
Light haste and lawless error,

Protect us yet again.
Cloak Thou our undeserving,

Make firm the shuddering breath, In silence and unswerving

To taste thy lesser death!

Ah, Mary pierced with sorrow,

Remember, reach and save The soul that comes to-morrow

Before the God that gave!
Since each was born of woman,

For each at utter need-
True comrade and true foeman,

Madonna, intercede!

E'en now their vanguard gathers,

E'en now we face the frayAs Thou didst help our fathers,

Help Thou our host to-day! Fulfilled of signs and wonders,

In life, in death made clearJehovah of the Thunders,

Lord God of Battles, hear!


(From Many Inventions.) Thy face is far from this our war,

Our call and counter-cry, I shall not find Thee quick and kind,

Nor know Thee till I die : Enough for me in dreams to see

And touch Thy garments' hem : Thy feet have trod so near to God

I may not follow them.

Through wantonness if men profess

They weary of Thy parts,
E'en let them die at blasphemy

And perish with their arts;
But we that love, but we that prove

Thine excellence august,
While we adore discover more

Thee perfect, wise, and just.

Since spoken word Man's Spirit stirred

Beyond his belly-need, What is is Thine of fair design

In thought and craft and deed;


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