The Lord'S Messengers

Thus saith the Lord to his own:-- "See ye the trouble below? Warfare of man from his birth! Too long let we them groan; Haste, arise ye, and go, Carry my peace upon earth!"

Gladly they rise at his call, Gladly obey his command, Gladly descend to the plain. --Ah! How few of them all, Those willing servants, shall stand In the Master's presence again!

Some in the tumult are lost; Baffled, bewilder'd, they stray. Some, as prisoners, draw breath. Some, unconquer'd, are cross'd (Not yet half through the day) By a pitiless arrow of Death.

Hardly, hardly shall one Come, with countenance bright, At the close of day, from the plain; His Master's errand well done, Safe through the smoke of the fight, Back to his Master again.