And all the dreadful things beneath the sun
Which we have made to grieve the holy One.
He with His scales
Shall justly weigh us out our due,
And winnow with His righteous flails
The chaff from out the crop we grew.
But this is sure, howe'er it be,
We shall not face ashamedly
The reckoning. For all the price
Of our poor faults is doubly paid
In valour and in sacrifice.
Who, then, of judgment is afraid?
Loathing war, yet seeing no honourable way of avoiding it, he faced the worst manfully, fearing no enemy and afraid only lest he should show fear when death seemed imminent and give those he loved cause to be ashamed of him, but—
Lo, when I joined the fight,
And bared my breast
To all the darts of that wild, hellish night,
I only stood the test,
For Fear, which I had feared, deserted then,
And forward blithely to the foe I prest,
King of myself again.
Blessed be God above
For His sweet care,
Who heard the prayers of those whom most I love
