Is this a time to plant and build,
Add house to house, and field to field,
When round our walls the bat­tle low­ers,
When mines are hid be­neath our tow­ers,
And watch­ful foes are steal­ing round
To search and spoil the ho­ly ground?

Is this a time for moon­light dreams
Of love and home by ma­zy streams,
For Fan­cy with her sha­dowy toys,
Aërial hopes and pen­sive joys,
While souls are wan­der­ing far and wide,
And curs­es swarm on ev­ery side?

No—ra­ther steel thy melt­ing heart
To act the mar­tyr’s stern­est part,
To watch, with firm un­shrink­ing eye,
Thy dar­ling vi­sions as they die,
Till all bright hopes, and hues of day,
Have fad­ed in­to twi­light gray.

Yes—let them pass with­out a sigh,
And if the world seem dull and dry,
If long and sad thy lone­ly hours,
And winds have rent thy shel­ter­ing bow­ers,
Bethink thee what thou art and where,
A sin­ner in a life of care.

The fire of God is soon to fall
(Thou know’st it) on this earth­ly ball;
Full ma­ny a soul, the price of blood,
Marked by th’Al­migh­ty’s hand for good,
To ut­ter death that hour shall sweep—
And will the saints in Hea­ven dare weep?

Then in His wrath shall God up­root
The trees He set, for lack of fruit,
And drown in rude tem­pes­tu­ous blaze
The tow­ers His hand had deigned to raise;
In si­lence, ere that storm begin,
Count o’er His mer­cies and thy sin.

Pray on­ly that thine ach­ing heart,
From vi­sions vain con­tent to part,
Strong for Love’s sake its woe to hide
May cheerf­ul wait the cross be­side,
Too hap­py if, that dread­ful day,
Thy life be giv­en thee for a prey.

Snatched sud­den from th’av­eng­ing rod,
Safe in the bo­som of thy God,
How wilt thou then look back, and smile
On thoughts the bit­ter­est seemed ere­while,
And bless the pangs that made thee see
This was no world of rest for thee!