A Prayer for Help
Canst thou not hear us, thou Almighty God?
Are all our prayers like bubbles upward blown?
The earth is shaking. Man, and sea, and sod,
And all thy winds together, making moan.
O Sacrifice! O Tragedy sublime!
The fathers old are marching with their sons;
They fling themselves by thousands at a time
Against the maws of the devouring guns!
And where art thou? The peoples rage like beasts;
With faith forsworn and passion at its flood,
They Thee forget, and at their bitter feasts
They lift to Thee strange flagons warm with blood.
And overhead, within the fenceless sky,
Which was our own, and made for our delight,
Are shapes like birds that slaughter as they fly,
And sing of hate, with all the stars in sight.
Behold the Kings! O, God, behold the Kings!
Their eyes are sad. The crowns are heavy weight,
The throne rooms fill with mournful echoings,
And armies camp too near the palace gate.
We whisper low — Are these the days, the days ,
The long, last days of all the years of Time?
Hide us, O God! Our cities are ablaze,
Our rivers sicken with their crimson slime!
If Thou hast missed our voices from the choirs,
How can we praise Thee while the bullets sing,
And smoke-wreaths curl above our dear desires,
And faith flies slowly on a wounded wing?
Maker of worlds, and hope of every race,
Through warring camps by suffering souls implored,
Send Thou to us from his exalted place,
Thy Angel Michael, with his flaming sword!
Canst thou not hear us, thou Almighty God?
Are all our prayers like bubbles upward blown?
The earth is shaking. Man, and sea, and sod,
And all thy winds together, making moan.
O Sacrifice! O Tragedy sublime!
The fathers old are marching with their sons;
They fling themselves by thousands at a time
Against the maws of the devouring guns!
And where art thou? The peoples rage like beasts;
With faith forsworn and passion at its flood,
They Thee forget, and at their bitter feasts
They lift to Thee strange flagons warm with blood.
And overhead, within the fenceless sky,
Which was our own, and made for our delight,
Are shapes like birds that slaughter as they fly,
And sing of hate, with all the stars in sight.
Behold the Kings! O, God, behold the Kings!
Their eyes are sad. The crowns are heavy weight,
The throne rooms fill with mournful echoings,
And armies camp too near the palace gate.
We whisper low — Are these the days, the days ,
The long, last days of all the years of Time?
Hide us, O God! Our cities are ablaze,
Our rivers sicken with their crimson slime!
If Thou hast missed our voices from the choirs,
How can we praise Thee while the bullets sing,
And smoke-wreaths curl above our dear desires,
And faith flies slowly on a wounded wing?
Maker of worlds, and hope of every race,
Through warring camps by suffering souls implored,
Send Thou to us from his exalted place,
Thy Angel Michael, with his flaming sword!
Are all our prayers like bubbles upward blown?
The earth is shaking. Man, and sea, and sod,
And all thy winds together, making moan.
O Sacrifice! O Tragedy sublime!
The fathers old are marching with their sons;
They fling themselves by thousands at a time
Against the maws of the devouring guns!
And where art thou? The peoples rage like beasts;
With faith forsworn and passion at its flood,
They Thee forget, and at their bitter feasts
They lift to Thee strange flagons warm with blood.
And overhead, within the fenceless sky,
Which was our own, and made for our delight,
Are shapes like birds that slaughter as they fly,
And sing of hate, with all the stars in sight.
Behold the Kings! O, God, behold the Kings!
Their eyes are sad. The crowns are heavy weight,
The throne rooms fill with mournful echoings,
And armies camp too near the palace gate.
We whisper low — Are these the days, the days ,
The long, last days of all the years of Time?
Hide us, O God! Our cities are ablaze,
Our rivers sicken with their crimson slime!
If Thou hast missed our voices from the choirs,
How can we praise Thee while the bullets sing,
And smoke-wreaths curl above our dear desires,
And faith flies slowly on a wounded wing?
Maker of worlds, and hope of every race,
Through warring camps by suffering souls implored,
Send Thou to us from his exalted place,
Thy Angel Michael, with his flaming sword!
Canst thou not hear us, thou Almighty God?
Are all our prayers like bubbles upward blown?
The earth is shaking. Man, and sea, and sod,
And all thy winds together, making moan.
O Sacrifice! O Tragedy sublime!
The fathers old are marching with their sons;
They fling themselves by thousands at a time
Against the maws of the devouring guns!
And where art thou? The peoples rage like beasts;
With faith forsworn and passion at its flood,
They Thee forget, and at their bitter feasts
They lift to Thee strange flagons warm with blood.
And overhead, within the fenceless sky,
Which was our own, and made for our delight,
Are shapes like birds that slaughter as they fly,
And sing of hate, with all the stars in sight.
Behold the Kings! O, God, behold the Kings!
Their eyes are sad. The crowns are heavy weight,
The throne rooms fill with mournful echoings,
And armies camp too near the palace gate.
We whisper low — Are these the days, the days ,
The long, last days of all the years of Time?
Hide us, O God! Our cities are ablaze,
Our rivers sicken with their crimson slime!
If Thou hast missed our voices from the choirs,
How can we praise Thee while the bullets sing,
And smoke-wreaths curl above our dear desires,
And faith flies slowly on a wounded wing?
Maker of worlds, and hope of every race,
Through warring camps by suffering souls implored,
Send Thou to us from his exalted place,
Thy Angel Michael, with his flaming sword!
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