The Moral Warfare

When Freedom, on her natal day,Within her war-rocked cradle lay,An iron race around her stood,Baptized her infant brow in blood;And, through the storm which round her swept,Their constant ward and watching kept.

Then, where our quiet herds repose,The roar of baleful battle rose,And brethren of a common tongueTo mortal strife as tigers sprung,And every gift on Freedom’s shrineWas man for beast, and blood for wine!

Our fathers to their graves have gone;Their strife is past, their triumph won;But sterner trials wait the raceWhich rises in their honored place;A moral warfare with the crimeAnd folly of an evil time.

So let it be. In God’s own mightWe gird us for the coming fight,And, strong in Him whose cause is oursIn conflict with unholy powers,We grasp the weapons He has given,—The Light, and Truth, and Love of Heaven.