O GOD! in danger's darkest hour, <br />In battle's deadliest field, <br />Thy name has been our Nation's tower, <br />Thy truth her help and shield. <br /> <br />Our lips should fill the air with praise, <br />Nor pay the debt we owe, <br />So high above the songs we raise <br />The floods of mercy flow. <br /> <br />Yet Thou wilt hear the prayer we speak, <br />The song of praise we sing,-- <br />Thy children, who thine altar seek <br />Their grateful gifts to bring. <br /> <br />Thine altar is the sufferer's bed, <br />The home of woe and pain, <br />The soldier's turfy pillow, red <br />With battle's crimson rain. <br /> <br />No smoke of burning stains the air, <br />No incense-clouds arise; <br />Thy peaceful servants, Lord, prepare <br />A bloodless sacrifice. <br /> <br />Lo! for our wounded brothers' need, <br />We bear the wine and oil; <br />For us they faint, for us they bleed, <br />For them our gracious toil! <br /> <br />O Father, bless the gifts we bring! <br />Cause Thou thy face to shine, <br />Till every nation owns her King, <br />And all the earth is thine.<br /><br />Oliver Wendell Holmes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hymn-for-the-fair-at-chicago/
