On Being Asked to Write a School Hymn

On a starless night and still

Underneath a sleeping hill

Comes the cry of sheep and kine

From the slaughter house to mine.

Fearful is the call and near

Though I do not want to hear,

Though it has been said by some

That the animal is dumb.

Gone the byre and gone the breeze

And the gently moving trees

As with stabbing eye they run

In a clear, electric sun.

Now, red-fingered

to their trade

With the shot and with the blade,

Rubber-booted angels white

Enter as the morning light.

But who wields that knife and gun

Does not strike the blow alone,

And there is no place to stand

Other than at his right hand.

God, who does not dwell on high

In the wide, unwinking sky,

And whose quiet counsels start

Simply from the human heart,

Teach us strong and teach us true

What to say and what to do,

That we love as best we can

All Thy creatures. Even man.

                                  Amen