Asylum in the furious field. Not so
The holy crowns of genuine glory grow;
Not there should they who bear the badge serene
Of Him who was the Prince of Peace, be seen;
Can such His faithful followers be?—Oh no!
His laurels are not drenched in blood,—but green
And beautiful as spring:—His arms are love
And mercy and forgiveness; and with them
He rules the nations’ mighty destinies
And gently leads us to our homes above.