 | The Last Crusade |  |
13
THE MIRACULOUS ARMIES.
Fools deem the age of miracles is dead,
But we behold them
Daily, and hear once more God's awful tread;
He marcheth with us to the battle-line
In power divine,
He ranks our forces and His arms enfold them,
His love their wine and sacramental bread.
The greatest and the least,
They each are summoned to the Bridegroom's feast.
But we behold them
Daily, and hear once more God's awful tread;
He marcheth with us to the battle-line
In power divine,
He ranks our forces and His arms enfold them,
His love their wine and sacramental bread.
The greatest and the least,
They each are summoned to the Bridegroom's feast.
What were the single purpose but His call,
The Spirit's leading
That lifts by many a broken heart and fall?
The dry bones live again, the very tomb
Becomes a womb
Of soldiers who obey the country's pleading
And form new resurrection's iron wall.
Yea, out of quickened dust
We see the rifle rise, the sword-blade's thrust.
The Spirit's leading
That lifts by many a broken heart and fall?
The dry bones live again, the very tomb
Becomes a womb
Of soldiers who obey the country's pleading
And form new resurrection's iron wall.
Yea, out of quickened dust
We see the rifle rise, the sword-blade's thrust.
Where once were only furze and stubborn thorn
Or thwart stern thistle,
Here peaceful flocks or there the huntsman's horn;
Rings out the bugle with its challenge grave
Across the wave,
The khaki grows like weeds, the bayonets bristle,
From every silent bush a man is born.
As though the labouring earth
Were but a cradle for fresh empire's birth.
Or thwart stern thistle,
Here peaceful flocks or there the huntsman's horn;
Rings out the bugle with its challenge grave
Across the wave,
The khaki grows like weeds, the bayonets bristle,
From every silent bush a man is born.
As though the labouring earth
Were but a cradle for fresh empire's birth.
14
We hear the sharpening of the sword, the cry
Of martial orders,
And see proud forms that move as destiny;
One mind, one mouth, one settled purpose runs
Along the guns,
The horse and foot that burst imprisoning borders
And raiseth hearts to deeds of chivalry.
As if the flowing tide
Had come to help its Queen, in subject pride.
Of martial orders,
And see proud forms that move as destiny;
One mind, one mouth, one settled purpose runs
Along the guns,
The horse and foot that burst imprisoning borders
And raiseth hearts to deeds of chivalry.
As if the flowing tide
Had come to help its Queen, in subject pride.
Stirs the whole nation to the trumpet peal
Beyond mere fashion,
That sets on every brow a glorious seal;
The slumbering giant from him rudely shakes
Fetters, and wakes
To discipline of calm and bridled passion,
While all are brothers for the common weal.
Onward the movement swings,
For freedom, to the playing-ground of kings.
Beyond mere fashion,
That sets on every brow a glorious seal;
The slumbering giant from him rudely shakes
Fetters, and wakes
To discipline of calm and bridled passion,
While all are brothers for the common weal.
Onward the movement swings,
For freedom, to the playing-ground of kings.
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