 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
BATTLE HYMN
Above the thunder crashes,
Around the lightning flashes:
Our heads are heaped with ashes!
But Thou, God, art nigh!
Thou launchest forth the levin,
The storm by Thee is driven,
Give heed, O Lord, from heaven,
Hear, hear our cry.
Around the lightning flashes:
Our heads are heaped with ashes!
But Thou, God, art nigh!
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The storm by Thee is driven,
Give heed, O Lord, from heaven,
Hear, hear our cry.
For, lo! the Dane defaces
With fire Thy holy places,
He hews Thy priests in pieces,
Our maids more than die.
Up, Lord, with storm and thunder,
Pursue him with his plunder,
And smite his ships in sunder,
Lord God, Most High!
With fire Thy holy places,
He hews Thy priests in pieces,
Our maids more than die.
Up, Lord, with storm and thunder,
Pursue him with his plunder,
And smite his ships in sunder,
Lord God, Most High!
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |