Ambassadors of Christ you go
Up to the ve­ry gates of hell,
Through fog of pow­der, storm of shell,
To speak your Mas­ter’s mes­sage: Lo,
The Prince of Peace is with you still,
His peace be with you, His good­will.

It is not small, your priest­hood’s price,
To be a man and yet stand by,
To hold your life whilst oth­ers die,
To bless, not share the sac­ri­fice,
To watch the strife and take no part—
You with the fire at your heart.

But yours, for our great cap­tain Christ
To know the sweat of ago­ny,
The dark­ness of Geth­se­ma­ne
In ang­uish for these souls un­priced.
Viceregent of God’s pi­ty you,
A sword must pierce your own soul through.

In the pale gleam of new-born day
Apart in some tree-sha­dowed place,
Your al­tar but a pack­ing case,
Rude as the shed where Ma­ry lay,
Your sanc­tu­ary the rain-drenched sod
You bring the kneel­ing sol­dier, God.

As sen­ti­nel you guard the gate
’Twixt life and death, and un­to death
Speed the brave soul whose fail­ing breath
Shudders not at the grip of fate,
But an­swers, gall­ant to the end,
Christ is the Word—and I His friend.

Then God go with you, priest of God,
For all is well and shall be well.
What though you tread the roads of hell?
With nail-pierced feet these ways He trod
Above the ang­uish and the loss
Still floats the en­sign of His cross.