From oldest time, on farthest shores,
Beneath the pine or palm,
One unseen presence she adores,
With silence or with Psalm.

Her priests are all God's faithful sons,
To serve the world raised up;
The pure in heart her baptized ones,
Love her communion cup.

The truth is her prophetic gift,
The soul her sacred page;
And feet on mercy's errands swift
Do make her pilgrimage.

O living church! Thine errand speed, Fulfil Thy work sublime;

With bread of life earth's hunger feed, Redeem the evil time!

THY KINGDOM COME

FREDERICK L. HOSMER, 1891

Thy kingdom come-on bended knee
The passing ages pray;

And faithful souls have yearned to see
On earth that kingdom's day.

But the slow watches of the night
Not less to God belong,

And for the everlasting right

The silent stars are strong.

And lo! already on the hills
The flags of dawn appear;

Gird up your loins, ye prophet souls,
Proclaim the day is near:

The day in whose clear shining light

All wrong shall stand revealed,

When justice shall be clothed with might, And every hurt be healed:

When knowledge, hand in hand with peace,
Shall walk the earth abroad,-
The day of perfect righteousness,
The promised day of God.

RECESSIONAL

RUDYARD KIPLING, 1897

God of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle line,
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine:
Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget.

The tumult and the shouting dies,
The captains and the kings depart;
Still stands thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart:
Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget.

Far-called our navies melt away,

On dune and headland sinks the fire; Lo, all our pomp of yesterday

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget, lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,

Such boastings as the Gentiles use,

Or lesser breeds without the law:

Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget.

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard;
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding, calls not Thee to guard.
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy mercy on thy people, Lord!

g. TWENTIETH CENTURY

AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL

Katherine Lee Bates, 1905

O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!

God shed his grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for pilgrim feet,

Whose stern, impassioned stress
A thoroughfare for freedom beat
Across the wilderness!

America! America!

God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in celf-control,
Thy liberty in law!

O beautiful for heroes proved

In liberating strife,

Who more than self their country loved,

And mercy more than life!

America! America!

May God thy gold refine,
Till all success be nobleness,
And every gain divine!

O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!

God shed his grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

THY KINGDOM COME, O LORD

FREDERICK L. HOSMER, 1905

Thy kingdom come, O Lord,
Wide-circling as the sun;
Fulfil of old thy word

And make the nations one ;—

One in the bond of peace,

The service glad and free
Of truth and righteousness
Of love and equity.

Speed, speed the longed-for time.
Foretold by raptured seers—
The prophecy sublime,

The hope of all the years;

Till rise at last, to span

Its firm foundations broad, The commonwealth of man,

The city of our God.

THE CITY

FRANK MASON NORTH, 1905

Where cross the crowded ways of life, Where sound the cries of race and clan Above the noise of selfish strife,

We hear Thy voice, O Son of Man.

In haunts of wretchedness and need,

On shadowed thresholds dark with fears, From paths where hide the lures of greed, We catch the vision of Thy tears.

From tender childhood's helplessness,
From woman's grief, man's burdened toil,
From famished souls, from sorrow's stress,
Thy heart has never known recoil.

The cup of water given for Thee

Still holds the freshness of Thy grace;

Yet long the multitudes to see

The sweet compassion of Thy face.

O Master, from the mountain side,

Make haste to heal these hearts of pain;
Among these restless throngs abide,
O tread the city's streets again;

Till sons of men shall learn Thy love,
And follow where Thy feet have trod;
Till glorious from Thy heaven above,
Shall come the City of our God.

THY KINGDOM, LORD, WE LONG FOR

VIDA SCUDDER, 1905

Thy Kingdom, Lord, we long for,
Where love shall find its own;
And brotherhood triumphant

Our years of pride disown.