FROM the dawning of the ages through the centuries' dim length,
Come the hopeful words of warning that make useless human strength;
Tho we feel our pulses quiver, tho our hearts beat high with pain,
Yet we bend our ears to listen to the words divine again—
Clearly, sternly, comes the word—
"Mine the vengeance," saith the Lord.
O, the strong men's hearts all bleeding 'neath the "Little Father's" heel!
O, the women dying gladly, not the pain of life to feel!
O, the children reared in terror, lest on lifting up the head,
They should see upheld before their eyes a crucifix blood-red!
Low, but firmly, came the word—
"Mine the vengeance," saith the Lord
Now the east wind lightly bears to us the groans of those in might—
Now at last a throne is trembling 'neath the majesty of right—
When the haughty ones are humbled, and the humble ones are free,
Help us, Lord, to feel no triumph! give all glory unto Thee!
Let us chant the golden word—
"Thine the glory!" Yea, O Lord!