THE WOUNDED SOLDIER.
141
Greetings from heavenly kindred
I never on earth shall see,
And blessings from friends long parted
Are songs like my bird's to me.
I never on earth shall see,
And blessings from friends long parted
Are songs like my bird's to me.
And low they sing, "Meliora!
The journey is shortening home;
To-night we are nearer the Glory,
And brighter the days to come.
Secure in the arms that bear thee,
Meliora! take thy rest:
Who doeth the will of the Father
Serveth the Master best."
The journey is shortening home;
To-night we are nearer the Glory,
And brighter the days to come.
Secure in the arms that bear thee,
Meliora! take thy rest:
Who doeth the will of the Father
Serveth the Master best."
THE WOUNDED SOLDIER.
The soul of the wounded crieth out: yet God layeth not folly to them."—Job xxiv. 12.
It was the hour of battle,
No human eye looked on;
Angels and devils, marvel;
A victory is won!
No human eye looked on;
Angels and devils, marvel;
A victory is won!
There is a moan of anguish,
A warrior lies low;
A poisoned shaft is proving
The malice of the foe.
A warrior lies low;
A poisoned shaft is proving
The malice of the foe.
