“From Battle, Murder and Sudden Death, Good Lord, Deliver Us.”
What of this prayer which myriad skies
Hear from the shrines where tired men kneel,
Godward upturning anguished eyes,
Clasping gaunt hands in strong appeal?
What of this fear that worn lives feel?
Why should some strain their labouring breath,
Since they must gain not woe but weal,
From battle, murder and sudden death!
Is it not well with him who dies
Flushed amid smoke and flash of steel;
Stabbed by some traitor’s swift surprise;
Stricken by doom no signs reveal?
Ruin and wrong can no more deal
Blows beneath which (man’s record saith)
Men ask deliverance, while they reel,
From battle, murder and sudden death!
Can one so dead be harmed by lies,
Tortured by wounds smiles ill conceal?
Can love bring loss, or desire devise
Vain visions, or grim fate’s iron heel
Brand both on brow and soul its seal,
Till, wretched as He of Nazareth,
Man loathes the life he yet prays to steal
From battle, murder and sudden death?
Envoi.
Waifs that on life’s tide sink and rise,
Chaff that each chance wind winnoweth,
Why dread God’s rest that comes, a prize
From battle, murder and sudden death?
John Moran.