 | The Last Crusade |  |
25
THE LARK ON THE BATTLE-FIELD.
Between the roar of the shotted guns,
And within their awful shadows,
The lark on its round of glory runs;
It can only breathe in the light of suns,
It can only see bright meadows.
There is room enough in the raging strife
For a pilgrim soul and the sweet of life.
And within their awful shadows,
The lark on its round of glory runs;
It can only breathe in the light of suns,
It can only see bright meadows.
There is room enough in the raging strife
For a pilgrim soul and the sweet of life.
It is murder here, it is murder there,
And the warrior slays his brother;
Both look to God in a common care,
But the home they seek, that is everywhere,
Means love, and there is no other.
And the passionate song that the lark doth raise
Is a part of love and embodied praise.
And the warrior slays his brother;
Both look to God in a common care,
But the home they seek, that is everywhere,
Means love, and there is no other.
And the passionate song that the lark doth raise
Is a part of love and embodied praise.
It is brown of the soil, and the open sky
Hath taught it the joy of motion,
With pain that begetteth liberty;
From the deeps of a timeless memory
It draws on the year's devotion.
In its happy voice there are all life's pleas,
The plaints of the lands and the laughing seas.
Hath taught it the joy of motion,
With pain that begetteth liberty;
From the deeps of a timeless memory
It draws on the year's devotion.
In its happy voice there are all life's pleas,
The plaints of the lands and the laughing seas.
The eternal strain goeth up to God
Of man, who is yet His fellow,
'Mid a fragrance born of the broken clod;
And with morning dew of a daisied sod,
It is young and rich and mellow.
For it tells of the battle-field and flood,
And its peaceful wings are baptized in blood.
Of man, who is yet His fellow,
'Mid a fragrance born of the broken clod;
And with morning dew of a daisied sod,
It is young and rich and mellow.
26
And its peaceful wings are baptized in blood.
Whatever our lot we must play our part
To the splendid call of duty,
Divine is its end and divine the start;
While its fountains flow from the world's great heart,
And it clothes the climes with beauty.
Heaven cometh down for the earth to share,
And the lark is one with the people's prayer.
To the splendid call of duty,
Divine is its end and divine the start;
While its fountains flow from the world's great heart,
And it clothes the climes with beauty.
Heaven cometh down for the earth to share,
And the lark is one with the people's prayer.
| The Last Crusade | |