Creation’s Lord, we give Thee thanks
That this Thy world is in­com­plete;
That bat­tle calls our mar­shaled ranks;
That work awaits our hands and feet.

That Thou hast not yet fini­shed man;
That we are in the mak­ing still,
As friends who share the Mak­er’s plan
As sons who know the Fa­ther’s will.

Beyond the pre­sent sin and shame,
Wrong’s bit­ter, cru­el, scorch­ing blight,
We see the beck­on­ing vi­sion flame,
The bless­èd kingd­om of the right.

What though the king­dom long de­lay,
And still with haugh­ty foes must cope?
It gives us that for which to pray,
A field for toil and faith and hope.

Since what we choose is what we are,
And what we love we yet shall be,
The goal may ev­er shine afar—
The will to win it makes us free.