Lord, bring the spring, and take the pain,
from weary bones of marching men;
Give them, I thee beseech, The warm clean rain and
Take hard strain from faces (fight they must)
But still upturned to Thee in trust.
Lord, bring the spring and ease sad hearts;
So long grown tired of bloody strife,
Give them I beseech
Warm soft clouds and skies so clear,
Through which they may many fly.
Chart his course clear, to Thee I cry.
Lord, bring the spring and teach tired souls
The way to pray and hope for peace.
Give us, I thee beseech
The will to live and dare,
The strength to keep our faith in Thee.