  IF Michael, leader of God’s host, When Heaven and Hell are met, Looked down on you from Heaven’s door-post, He would his deeds forget. Brooding no more upon God’s wars In his Divine homestead, He would go weave out of the stars A chaplet for your head; And all folk seeing him bow down, And white stars tell your praise, Would come at last to God’s great town, Led on by gentle ways; And God would bid his warfare cease, Saying all things were well, And softly make a rosy peace, A peace of Heaven and Hell. |
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