Back from battle, torn and rent, Listing bridge and stanchions bent By the angry sea. By Thy guiding mercy sent, Fruitful was the road we went-- Back from battle we. If Thou hadst not been, O Lord, behind our feeble arm, If Thy hand had not been there to slam the lyddite home, When against us men arose and sought to work us harm, We had gone to death, O Lord, in spouting rings of foam. Heaving sea and cloudy sky Saw the battle flashing by As Thy foemen ran. By Thy grace, that made them fly, We have seen two hundred die Since the fight began. If our cause had not been Thine, for Thy eternal Right, If the foe in place of us had fought for Thee, O Lord! If Thou hadst not guided us and drawn us there to fight, We never should have closed with them--Thy seas are dark and broad. Through the iron rain they fled, Bearing home the tale of dead, Flying from Thy sword. After-hatch to fo'c'sle head, We have turned their decks to red, By Thy help, O Lord! It was not by our feeble sword that they were overthrown, But Thy right hand that dashed them down, the servants of the proud; It was not arm of ours that saved, but Thine, O Lord, alone, When down the line the guns began, and sang Thy praise aloud. Sixty miles of running fight, Finished at the dawning light, Off the Zuider Zee. Thou that helped throughout the night Weary hand and aching sight, Praise, O Lord, to Thee. IN FORTY WEST IN FORTY WEST. We are coming from the ranch, from the city and the mine, And the word has gone before us to the towns upon the Rhine; As the rising of the tide On the Old-World side, We are coming to the battle, to the Line. From the valleys of Virginia, from the Rockies in the North, We are coming by battalions, for the word was carried forth: "We have put the pen away, And the sword is out to-day, For the Lord has loosed the Vintages of Wrath." We are singing in the ships as they carry us to fight, As our fathers sang before us by the camp-fires' light; In the wharf-light glare They can hear us Over There, When the ships come steaming through the night. Right across the deep Atlantic where the _Lusitania_ passed, With the battle-flag of Yankeeland a-floating at the mast, We are coming all the while, Over twenty hundred mile, And were staying to the finish, to the last.