War Cry

If revengeful arrows crave a blood bath

And, chomping at the bit, they demand wrath,

While taut and ready (wild my armored soul)

This drunken head and eye await the toll,

Then why are shouts of victory made dumb

And jubilation's corpse is limply hung?

Since mortal's eyes were born, they've strived to see

Exacting expiation's penalty.

Sudden lightening flash ignites my sharp pulse.

An instant's view reveals martyred souls,

The sight of which speeds worship through my veins.

These saints are like sculptures of He who reigns.

In one accord, they spoke with hallowed might,

"Await the day when all will be made right.

With righteousness and truth fight the good fight!. Amen"