God of our fathers, known of old--
Lord of our far-flung battle-line--
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine--
Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget.
The tumult and the shouting dies--
The Captains and the Kings depart--
Still stands thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget.
Far-called our navies melt away--
On dune and headland sinks the fire--
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre.
Judge of the nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget.
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not thee in awe--
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law--
Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget.
For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard--
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard.
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy mercy on thy people, Lord.
--Rudyard Kipling.
In humbleness, O Lord, I ask
That thou bestow on me
The will and strength to do some task
For growth of love for thee;
Some task, not of my chosen will--
For wisdom is not mine--
But let my frailsome life fulfill
Some perfect thought of thine.