Once more upon its fiery centre hung
Has this great world its trackless orbit traced,
And still Thine offspring, God, are being flung
By brutal war like compost on the waste;
Look on the killed and those compelled to kill,
And peace establish, if it be Thy will.
The silver moon that rules the grisly nights
Has registered but sighs and griefs, and groans,
The stars have witnessed soul-distressing sights,
And of the dying Thou hast heard the moans;
Behold, O God, the souls that slaughtered lie!
To Thou, O God of peace, for peace we cry.
The dew upon the fields of France is red,
And Belgium battered, bruised, and bleeding lies.
Trembles the earth beneath the martial tread
Of myriads who fall no more to rise
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With the prayerful desire that the Lord Jesus Christ will use this God-given ministry in this form for His glory and the blessing of many in these last days before His coming. © Les Hodgett 
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