<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="center" class="head">Hymn After Battle</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="subhead">I</p><p class="line"><span class="smallcaps">Lord</span> of this blood-drenched battle plain,</p><p class="line">Lord of the foe our hands have slain</p><p class="line">Glory to Thee amidst the dead,</p><p class="line">That Thou hast still Thy people led,</p><p class="line">And shattered thus, O Lord benign,</p><p class="line">This people that was also Thine!</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Lord of our high, triumphant state,</p><p class="line">Lord of the hearths made desolate --</p><p class="line">Shall they not praise Thee, they that rue</p><p class="line">Beside those hearths the dead we slew?</p><p class="line">Yea, at Thine altar let them bow,</p><p class="line">God of their dead and them art Thou!</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Lord of the darkness and the sun,</p><p class="line">While we give thanks for victory won,</p><p class="line">Surely each blackening wound that gapes</p><p class="line">Here in these broken human shapes,</p><p class="line">Mouths but its praise of all Thy powers!</p><p class="line">Thou wert their God no less than ours.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="subhead">II</p><p class="line">Yet is it well that men to-day</p><p class="line">Recrown their fathers' god of clay?</p><p class="line">Yet is it well that from his sleep</p><p class="line">The savage in our blood should leap</p><p class="line">To flatter from this reeking sod</p><p class="line">The spirit of his primal god?</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Nay, we were best be mute, and raise</p><p class="line">No blasphemy of boastful praise,</p><p class="line">Scatter no incense on the air,</p><p class="line">Nor lift our reddened hands in prayer,</p><p class="line">But dig the earth our steps defame,</p><p class="line">And hide these trophies of our shame.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Silence the braggart lips that call</p><p class="line">The brute that slumbers in us all</p><p class="line">Back to the ravening triumph foul</p><p class="line">Of rending claws and bloody jowl --</p><p class="line">Lest we forget the heights sublime,</p><p class="line">And lapse into our ancient slime.</p></div><p class="byline">A. ST. JOHN ADCOCK.</p><em>Daily Herald, August</em> 6, 1914</body></html> · Great War