  Above the monster cannon’s roaring thunder, Above the hailstorm of the musketry, Above the shrieking shells that burst asunder, With def’ning crash, man’s strongest masonry: Above the tumult and the din of battle, The loud command, the bugles’ egging call, Above the groans of wounded and the rattle Of death in thousand throats, above it all— There is a hand that overrules man’s madness, And causes ev’n his anger Him to praise, A hand which from destruction, grief and sadness Brings better prospects for the struggling race; The hand of Providence which in all ages Has shaped the history of human-kind, And we may read upon its blood-stained pages The loving purpose of the Father’s mind. From Europe’s awful carnage, ruin, sorrow, Caused by a greed insane and pride of Kings, There will arise a brighter, better morrow With righteousness and healing in its wings. A day of freedom when the thrones must tumble, A day when nations shall cast off the yoke, When none shall batten on the poor and humble, And untruth walk about in priestly cloak. When Celt and Teuton, Slav and Anglo-Saxon, Shall wisdom learn from this their plunge in gore, And cease to spend their strength in paying tax on Their daily bread for implements of war; When they shall dwell in harmony as brothers, When good of one is good of all the others, Then will His Kingdom’s banner be unfurled. |
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