(My focus for the next few weeks is on the Church in the World War I era, so much of the poetry for the next few weeks may come from that era.)
By Ruth May Fox
Our brothers, our sisters, far over the sea,
In lands of destruction and grim cruelty;
Where men are mown down like the grass of the field,
Where death stands aghast at the horrible yield;
May God give you courage and strength for your day,
His angels encircle you all the dark way.
We live, it is true, in God’s own chosen land,
Where Ephraim’s mountains in majesty stand
Guard over valleys of plenty and peace;
Where knowledge and beauty as rivers increase;
Our prayers are for you as you bend ’neath the rod,
Your sorrows are ours, and your God is our God.
God’s temples are here on the mount of the Lord,
We worship therein and we hear the glad word;
Apostles and prophets our bosoms inspire
With truths which are born of celestial fire –
The truths of the gospel which make us all one
In bonds everlasting, through Jesus his Son.
In spirit we often soar over the deep,
Our hearts throb with yours, and we silently weep
With mothers and daughters and sisters and wives
Of those of our brothers who lay down their lives;
For children we pray, who without sin or blame,
Are victims, with you, of the battle’s mad flame.
But, though the flames scorch you they cannot consume;
Your life goeth onward, they serve to illume
Your pathway to glory, where with the redeemed
The joy shall be yours of which oft you have dreamed;
To stand on Mount Zion, sing songs of the blest,
With saints and their King light the world to its rest.