And the broad plains which lie
Beneath the blessed sky,
Our battle-field.
3 What is that great intent
On which each heart is bent,
Our hosts among?
It is that hate may die,
That war’s red curse may fly,
And war’s high praise for aye
No more be sung.
And the broad plains which lie
Beneath the blessed sky,
Our battle-field.
3 What is that great intent
On which each heart is bent,
Our hosts among?
It is that hate may die,
That war’s red curse may fly,
And war’s high praise for aye
No more be sung.