Thy hand, O God of battles, and Thy voice
Drew friend and foe into one net of hell,
Wherefore Thine angels glory and rejoice,
Thine enemies shall perish. It is well.
We who had hoped in vain that for a season
We might hold back Thy darkness from mankind,
We who had trusted and obeyed our reason,
We now are helpless and amazed and blind.
Thou hast grudged the rich his little hours of pleasure,
The little things of life that he held dear,