Page:Fifes and Drums, Poems of America at War, Vigilantes, 1917.djvu/25

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored.
He has loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword;
            His truth is marching on.

It is calling with the sea-winds far across the troubled wave,
Where Belgium in her beauty lies all one trampled grave,
And still her proud defenders lift the pæan of the brave—
            Her soul is marching on!

It cries along the bloody fields, from Russia back to France,
Where the great united nations hold the savage foe's advance;