 | The Poems of Selwyn Image |  |
46
GIVE PEACE IN OUR TIME, O LORD
Father of all, wild, wild's the sky,
Sunk is the sun, the awful night
With brooding storm usurps the light:
Is it too late, we kneel and cry?
Sunk is the sun, the awful night
With brooding storm usurps the light:
Is it too late, we kneel and cry?
Father of all, without Whose will
No sparrow falls upon the ground,
Thou art our stay, when all around
Grows strangled in the grasp of ill.
No sparrow falls upon the ground,
Thou art our stay, when all around
Grows strangled in the grasp of ill.
Ah! how he strains, the Accursèd One,
Whose war-cry once rent heaven asunder,
To catch the first blast of battle's thunder,
As the thin sands reluctant run!
Whose war-cry once rent heaven asunder,
To catch the first blast of battle's thunder,
As the thin sands reluctant run!
Ah! how he laughs this hideous hour
To watch men in Thine image made,
On whom Thy gracious spirit hath laid
Rare gifts of brain and tongue for dower,
To watch men in Thine image made,
On whom Thy gracious spirit hath laid
Rare gifts of brain and tongue for dower,
Hounding Thy children on to blood—
Drunk with revenge's vain desire,
Or with mad greed of gold on fire,
Swept reckless down hate's gathering flood.
Drunk with revenge's vain desire,
Or with mad greed of gold on fire,
Swept reckless down hate's gathering flood.
Father of all, immortal Love,
Here at Thy feet we fall and pray—
Thou, Thou, our sole last hope and stay—
Oh! from Thy radiant heaven above
Here at Thy feet we fall and pray—
Thou, Thou, our sole last hope and stay—
Oh! from Thy radiant heaven above
In mercy look upon Thy land,
Our England, ere the die be cast:
Lord, in this fateful hour at last
Speak—and 'tis Light at Thy command.
Our England, ere the die be cast:
Lord, in this fateful hour at last
Speak—and 'tis Light at Thy command.
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