For still the Lord is Lord of might; In deeds, in deeds, He takes delight; The plough, the spear, the laden barks, The field, the founded city, marks; He marks the smiler of the streets, The singer upon garden seats; He sees the climber in the rocks: To Him, the shepherd folds his flocks. For those He loves that underprop With daily virtues Heaven’s top, And bear the falling sky with ease, Unfrowning caryatides. Those He approves that ply the trade, That rock the child, that wed the maid, That with weak virtues, weaker hands, Sow gladness on the peopled lands. And still with laughter, song and shout, Spin the great wheel of earth about.
But ye?—O ye who linger still Here in your fortress on the hill, With placid face, with tranquil breath, The unsought volunteers of death, Our cheerful General on high With careless looks may pass you by.