Your heart will meditate on terror:
“ Where is the scribe?
Where is he who weighs?
Where is he who counts the towers?”
Fear, and the pit, and the snare, are upon thee, O inhabitant of the earth. And it shall come to pass, that he who fleeth from the noise of the fear shall fall into the pit; and he that cometh up out of the midst of the pit shall be taken in the snare: for the windows from on high are open, and the foundations of the earth do shake.
by Rudyard Kipling
God of our fathers, known of old– Lord of our far-flung battle line Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine– Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget – lest we forget!
The tumult and the shouting dies; The captains and the kings depart: Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget – lest we forget!
Far-called, our navies melt away; On dune and headland sinks the fire: Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget – lest we forget!
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe– Such boasting as the Gentiles use Or lesser breeds without the law– Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget – lest we forget!
For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard– All valiant dust that builds on dust, And guarding, calls not Thee to guard– For frantic boast and foolish word, Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord!