King Arthur's men have come again. They challenge everywhere The foes of Christ's Eternal Church. Her incense crowns the air. The heathen knighthood cower and curse To hear the bugles ring, BUT SPEARS ARE SET, THE CHARGE IS ON, WISE ARTHUR SHALL BE KING! And Cromwell's men have come again, I meet them in the street. Stern but in this--no way of thorns Shall snare the children's feet. The reveling foemen wreak but waste, A sodden poisonous band. FIERCE CROMWELL BUILDS THE FLOWER-BRIGHT TOWNS, AND A MORE SUNLIT LAND! And Lincoln's men have come again. Up from the South he flayed, The grandsons of his foes arise In his own cause arrayed. They rise for freedom and clean laws High laws, that shall endure. OUR GOD ESTABLISHES HIS ARM AND MAKES THE BATTLE SURE! Foreign Missions in Battle Array An endless line of splendor, These troops with heaven for home, With creeds they go from Scotland, With incense go from Rome. These, in the name of Jesus, Against the dark gods stand, They gird the earth with valor, They heed their King's command. Onward the line advances, Shaking the hills with power, Slaying the hidden demons, The lions that devour. No bloodshed in the wrestling,-- But souls new-born arise-- The nations growing kinder, The child-hearts growing wise. What is the final ending? The issue, can we know? Will Christ outlive Mohammed? Will Kali's altar go? This is our faith tremendous,-- Our wild hope, who shall scorn,-- That in the name of Jesus The world shall be reborn! Star of My Heart Star of my heart, I follow from afar. Sweet Love on high, lead on where shepherds are, Where Time is not, and only dreamers are. Star from of old, the Magi-Kings are dead And a foolish Saxon seeks the manger-bed. O lead me to Jehovah's child Across this dreamland lone and wild, Then will I speak this prayer unsaid, And kiss his little haloed head-- "My star and I, we love thee, little child." Except the Christ be born again to-night In dreams of all men, saints and sons of shame, The world will never see his kingdom bright. Stars of all hearts, lead onward thro' the night Past death-black deserts, doubts without a name, Past hills of pain and mountains of new sin To that far sky where mystic births begin, Where dreaming ears the angel-song shall win. Our Christmas shall be rare at dawning there, And each shall find his brother fair, Like a little child within: All hearts of the earth shall find new birth And wake, no more to sin. Look You, I'll Go Pray Look you, I'll go pray, My shame is crying, My soul is gray and faint, My faith is dying. Look you, I'll go pray-- "Sweet Mary, make me clean, Thou rainstorm of the soul, Thou wine from worlds unseen." At Mass