On a starless night and still <br />Underneath a sleeping hill <br />Comes the cry of sheep and kine <br />From the slaughter house to mine. <br /> <br />Fearful is the call and near <br />Though I do not want to hear, <br />Though it has been said by some <br />That the animal is dumb. <br /> <br />Gone the byre and gone the breeze <br />And the gently moving trees <br />As with stabbing eye they run <br />In a clear, electric sun. <br /> <br />Now, red-fingered to their trade <br />With the shot and with the blade, <br />Rubber-booted angels white <br />Enter as the morning light. <br /> <br />But who wields that knife and gun <br />Does not strike the blow alone, <br />And there is no place to stand <br />Other than at his right hand. <br /> <br />God, who does not dwell on high <br />In the wide, unwinking sky, <br />And whose quiet counsels start <br />Simply from the human heart, <br /> <br />Teach us strong and teach us true <br />What to say and what to do, <br />That we love as best we can <br />All Thy creatures. Even man. <br /> Amen<br /><br />Charles Causley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-being-asked-to-write-a-school-hymn/
