General (Vol. 3)

Towering Peaks

  1. Above the throbbing pulse of man,
    Machinery of blood and strife,
    The restless clutching of the hand,
    The febrile calculus of life,
    Our Lord supreme in tranquil state
    Surveys the battlefield below,
    Lending His aid to all who fight
    Our cunning, cruel and subtle foe.
  2. Yet he is found choked by the stench,
    Amid the squalor and the gloom,
    Stumbling in the crumbling trench,
    The mourner at the shell hole tomb;
    He wills his people at their best
    To bend their wills to Him who gave
    Eternal hope to the oppressed
    Beyond their torture and the grave.
  3. So we who may enjoy this world,
    Whose hand of cards contains an ace,
    Should better play what He has dealt
    With patience, sacrifice and grace;
    The challenge of the needle's eye,
    Though stern, is equal to the gift
    Proclaimed in blood and prophesy
    To sober, nourish and uplift.
  4. Our eyes are set beyond the plain
    To peaks of everlasting peace,
    The cool refreshment of the brain,
    The anxious soul's benign release
    Where all conditions of our race
    Will gather in a loving throng,
    And we will recognise the place
    As the true home where we belong.