  Now the muttering gun-fire dies, Now the night has cloaked the slain, Now the stars patrol the skies, Hear our sleepless prayer again! They who work their country’s will, Fight and die for Britain still, Soldiers, but not haters, know Thou must pity friend and foe. Therefore hear, Both for foe and friend, our prayer. Thou whose wounded Hands do reach Over every land and sea, Rise from all our souls to Thee; Deeper than the wrath that burns Round our hosts when day returns; Deeper than the peace that fills All these trenched and waiting hills. Hear, O hear! Both for foe and friend, our prayer. Pity deeper than the grave Sees, beyond the death we wield, Faces of the young and brave Hurled against us in the field. Cannon-fodder! They must come, We must slay them, and be dumb, Slaughter, while we pity, these Most implacable enemies. Master, hear, Both for foe and friend, our prayer. They are blind, as we are blind, Urged by duties past reply. Ours is but the task assigned; Theirs to strike us ere they die. Who can see his country fall? Who but answers at her call? Who has power to pause and think When she reels upon the brink? Hear, O hear, Both for foe and friend, our prayer. Shield them from that bitterest lie Laughed by fools who quote their mirth, When the wings of death go by And their brother shrieks on earth. Though they clamp their hearts with steel, Conquering every fear they feel. There are dreams they dare not tell. Father, hear, Both for foe and friend, our prayer. Where the naked bodies burn, Where the wounded toss at home, Weep and bleed and laugh in turn, Yes, the masking jest may come. Let him jest who daily dies. But O hide his haunted eyes. Pain alone he might control. Shield, O shield his wounded soul. Master, hear, Both for foe and friend, our prayer. Peace? We steel us to the end. Hope betrayed us, long ago. Duty binds both foe and friend. It is ours to break the foe. Then, O God! that we might break This red Moloch for Thy sake; And that Justice holds the scales. Father, hear, Both for foe and friend, our prayer. England, could this awful hour, Dawning on thy long renown, Mark the purpose of thy power, Crown thee with that mightier crown! Broadening to that purpose climb All the blood-red wars of Time.... Set the struggling peoples free, Crown with Law their Liberty! England, hear, Both for foe and friend, our prayer! Speed, O speed what every age Writes with a prophetic hand. Read the midnight’s moving page, Out of Chaos ye shall draw Deepening harmonies of Law, Till around the Eternal Sun All your peoples move in one. Christ-God, hear, Both for foe and friend, our prayer. The Gresham Press |
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