English Roses by F. Harald Williams [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] |
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BLOW THE TRUMP IN ZION. |
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 | English Roses |  |
BLOW THE TRUMP IN ZION.
“Blow the trump in Zion”—
That's my goodly name—
When the foe is raging, lusty as a lion,
And retreats in shadow and lies down in shame;
Sounding late and early
In the early-burly
Of the Holy Gospel and the glorious fight
Towards a precious haven and a purer light,
Praise the Lord with singing,
Praise Him with the sword;
When hard blows are taken or soft bells keep ringing,
Always give Him honour, only praise the Lord.
That's my goodly name—
When the foe is raging, lusty as a lion,
And retreats in shadow and lies down in shame;
Sounding late and early
In the early-burly
Of the Holy Gospel and the glorious fight
Towards a precious haven and a purer light,
Praise the Lord with singing,
Praise Him with the sword;
When hard blows are taken or soft bells keep ringing,
Always give Him honour, only praise the Lord.
“Blow the trump,” to battle—
That's my office true—
When the blades are striking and the bullets rattle
On the buckler, and the devil gets his due;
Sounding on and ever
With a high endeavour,
Till the reeling squadrons where the pennons toss
In mid act of breaking rally round the Cross.
Pray aloud, my brother,
In the smoke and smother,
While the end looks doubtful in the night of fears—
Pray with blood and iron, pray to Him who hears.
That's my office true—
When the blades are striking and the bullets rattle
On the buckler, and the devil gets his due;
Sounding on and ever
With a high endeavour,
Till the reeling squadrons where the pennons toss
In mid act of breaking rally round the Cross.
Pray aloud, my brother,
In the smoke and smother,
While the end looks doubtful in the night of fears—
Pray with blood and iron, pray to Him who hears.
“Blow the trump” with shouting,
For the Blessed Book;
March a solid wall as one man to the routing
Of the sinners, sunk in flesh, whereto they look;
Sounding as it's written,
While the foe is smitten
As with Samson's jawbone fiercely hip and thigh
With a noise of thunder, when the Lord draws nigh.
Praise the Lord with fasting,
Praise Him at the board;
In the silence and with homage everlasting
Always do him reverence, only praise the Lord.
For the Blessed Book;
March a solid wall as one man to the routing
Of the sinners, sunk in flesh, whereto they look;
Sounding as it's written,
While the foe is smitten
As with Samson's jawbone fiercely hip and thigh
With a noise of thunder, when the Lord draws nigh.
Praise the Lord with fasting,
548
In the silence and with homage everlasting
Always do him reverence, only praise the Lord.
“Blow the trump,” and wrestle
With the Powers of Gloom;
Spare not dainty damsels, nor the babes that nestle
Idly at their mothers' breasts against the Doom;
Sounding to the struggle,
Ere the idols juggle
With poor souls that lean upon a painted lie,
And unless we taught them would in darkness die.
Cry, ye fellow sinners,
Humbly and yet more;
For the Captain cometh, who will lead the winners,
As the wind that blows a billow to the shore.
With the Powers of Gloom;
Spare not dainty damsels, nor the babes that nestle
Idly at their mothers' breasts against the Doom;
Sounding to the struggle,
Ere the idols juggle
With poor souls that lean upon a painted lie,
And unless we taught them would in darkness die.
Cry, ye fellow sinners,
Humbly and yet more;
For the Captain cometh, who will lead the winners,
As the wind that blows a billow to the shore.
Blow the trump,” with blazes
Of devouring fire,
Through the labyrinthine errors and wild mazes
In the Land of Belial and its lewd attire;
Sounding truths of gladness
In the mirth and madness
Heard among the gardens, where sweet fountains flow
And the Trees of Pleasure beautifully grow;
Where the Scarlet Woman
By her evil ken
Stands with sops of worldliness a deadly foeman,
Tempting looks of weakness, trapping lives of men.
Of devouring fire,
Through the labyrinthine errors and wild mazes
In the Land of Belial and its lewd attire;
Sounding truths of gladness
In the mirth and madness
Heard among the gardens, where sweet fountains flow
And the Trees of Pleasure beautifully grow;
Where the Scarlet Woman
By her evil ken
Stands with sops of worldliness a deadly foeman,
Tempting looks of weakness, trapping lives of men.
“Blow the trump,” and scatter,
Armies like the chaff,
That the saints upon their treasures may get fatter
With the lamp of knowledge and the steel for staff;
Sounding forth and gaily
Blasts of precepts daily
And the promises of bliss for the Elect,
Which transgressors at their peril do reject.
Praise the Lord with little,
What ye can afford,
Praise the Lord with plenty—hostile bones are brittle—
Always praise Him freely, only praise the Lord.
Armies like the chaff,
That the saints upon their treasures may get fatter
With the lamp of knowledge and the steel for staff;
Sounding forth and gaily
Blasts of precepts daily
And the promises of bliss for the Elect,
Which transgressors at their peril do reject.
Praise the Lord with little,
What ye can afford,
549
Always praise Him freely, only praise the Lord.
“Blow the trump,” and follow
Whither leads the way,
Proving hopes of rebels yet are vain and hollow
In their riot while they never watch or pray;
Sounding with the morning
Gospel news and warning
Notes of full salvation till the end and night,
Yet baptizing sinners in red sweat of fight.
Bid them rise and waken
With the point behind,
From the bonds of Egypt's flesh-pots rudely shaken
To a higher purpose and a surer mind.
Whither leads the way,
Proving hopes of rebels yet are vain and hollow
In their riot while they never watch or pray;
Sounding with the morning
Gospel news and warning
Notes of full salvation till the end and night,
Yet baptizing sinners in red sweat of fight.
Bid them rise and waken
With the point behind,
From the bonds of Egypt's flesh-pots rudely shaken
To a higher purpose and a surer mind.
“Blow-the-trump-in-Zion”—
That's my solemn task—
If false gods have service which their dupes rely on,
Till we beat them low and tear away the mask;
Sounding peals that double
Sin's despair and trouble,
When the Lord descends with pomp of judgment right
And the Laughter of the Lord is known in might.
Soon will come the reaping,
Falsehood's day is short;
When the few have crossed the river's roar and leaping,
They shall anchor safely in the Heavenly Port.
That's my solemn task—
If false gods have service which their dupes rely on,
Till we beat them low and tear away the mask;
Sounding peals that double
Sin's despair and trouble,
When the Lord descends with pomp of judgment right
And the Laughter of the Lord is known in might.
Soon will come the reaping,
Falsehood's day is short;
When the few have crossed the river's roar and leaping,
They shall anchor safely in the Heavenly Port.
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