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.