Strove to engulf the voice of faith In the shrieks of their despair. There was wailing in the houses, There was trembling on the marts, While the tempest raged and thundered, Mid the silent thrill of hearts; But the Lord, our shield, was with us, And the little children gambolled, As the huge bombs whirled and blazed; Then turned with silvery laughter To the sports which children love, Thrice mailed in the sweet, instinctive thought That the good God watched above. Yet the hailing bolts fell faster, Grew the conflict's wild eclipse, Like a type of doom and ire, Whence shot a thousand quivering tongues Of forked and vengeful fire. But the unseen hands of angels Those death-shafts warned aside, And through the war-scarred marts BETWEEN THE SUNKEN SUN AND THE NEW MOON BETWEEN the sunken sun and the new moon, I stood in fields through which a rivulet ran With scarce perceptible motion, not a span noon |