 | Poems of the war |  |
166
GRANT.
As Moses stood upon the flaming hill,With all the people gathered at his feet,
Waiting in Sinai's valley, there to meet
The awful bearer of Jehovah's will;
So, Grant, thou stand'st, amidst the trumpets shrill,
And the wild fiery storms that flash and beat
In iron thunder and in leaden sleet,
Topmost of all, and most exposed to ill.
O, stand thou firm, great leader of our race,
Hope of our future, till the times grow bland,
And into ashes drops war's dying brand:
167
Descend thy height, God's glory on thy face,
And the law's tables safe within thy hand!
| Poems of the war | |