Soul, dost thou fear
For to-day or to-morrow?
'Tis the part of a fool
To go seeking sorrow.
Of thine own doing
Thou canst not contrive them.
'Tis He that shall give them;
Thou may'st not outlive them.
So why cloud to-day
With fear of the sorrow,
That may or may not
Come to-morrow?

Curly head, and laughing eyes,-
Mischief that all blame defies.

Cricket,- footer,- Eton-jacket,-
Everlasting din and racket.

Tennis,- boating,- socks and ties,-
Tragedies,- and comedies.

Business,- sobered,- getting on,-
One girl now,- The Only One.

London Scottish,- sporran,- kilt,-
Bonnet cocked at proper tilt.

Dies Irae!- Off to France,-
Lord,- a safe deliverance!

Deadly work,- foul gases,- trenches;
Naught that radiant spirit quenches.

Letters dated 'Somewhere- France,'-
Mud,- and grub,- and no romance.

Hearts at home all on the quiver,
Telegrams make backbones shiver.

Silence!- Feverish enquiry;-
Dies Irae!- Dies Irae!

His the joy,- and ours the pain,
But, ere long, we'll meet again.

Not too much we'll sorrow- for
It's both 'à Dieu!' and 'au revoir!'

Is the pathway dark and dreary?
God's in His heaven!
Are you broken, heart-sick, weary?
God's in His heaven!
Dreariest roads shall have an ending,
Broken hearts are for God's mending.
All's well! All's well!
All's ... well!

Are life's threads all sorely tangled?
God's in His heaven!
Are the sweet chords strained and jangled?
God's in His heaven!
Tangled threads are for Love's fingers,
Trembling chords make heaven's sweet singers.
All's well! All's well!
All's ... well!

Is the burden past your bearing?
God's in His heaven!
Hopeless?- Friendless?- No one caring?
God's in His heaven!
Burdens shared are light to carry,
Love shall come though long He tarry.
All's well! All's well!
All's ... well!

Is the light for ever failing?
God's in His heaven!
Is the faint heart ever quailing?
God's in His heaven!
God's strong arms are all around you,
In the dark He sought and found you.
All's well! All's well!
All's ... well!

Is the future black with sorrow?
God's in His heaven!
Do you dread each dark to-morrow?
God's in His heaven!
Nought can come without His knowing.
Come what may 'tis His bestowing.
All's well! All's well!
All's ... well!

Peace and heaven lie all about us.
God's in His heaven!
Peace within makes heaven without us.
God's in His heaven!
God's great love shall fail us never,
We are His, and His for ever.
All's well! All's well!
All's ... well!

Britain! Our Britain! uprisen in the splendour
Of your white wrath at treacheries so vile;
Roused from your sleep, become once more defender
Of those high things which make life worth life's while!

Now, God be thanked for even such a wakening
From the soft dreams of peace in selfish ease,
If it but bring about the great heart-quickening,
Of which are born the larger liberties.

Ay, better such a rousing up from slumber;
Better this fight for His High Empery;
Better- e'en though our fair sons without number
Pave with their lives the road to victory.

But- Britain! Britain! What if it be written,
On the great scrolls of Him who holds the ways,
That to the dust the foe shall not be smitten
Till unto Him we pledge redeemèd days?-

Till unto Him we turn- in deep soul-sorrow,
For all the past that was so stained and dim,
For all the present ills- and for a morrow
Founded and built and consecrated to Him.

Take it to heart! This ordeal has its meaning;
By no fell chance has such a horror come.
Take it to heart!- nor count indeed on winning,
Until the lesson has come surely home.

Take it to heart!- nor hope to find assuagement
Of this vast woe, until, with souls subdued,
Stripped of all less things, in most high engagement,
We seek in Him the One and Only Good.

Not of our own might shall this tribulation
Pass, and once more to earth be peace restored;
Not till we turn, in solemn consecration,
Wholly to Him, our One and Sovereign Lord.