Smoke is all about us.
The guns of war, they never cease.
Arrows fly and trumpets sound.
The casualties increase.
At his right his brother falls.
At his left fall seven.
But angels come and bear them up.
Abodes await in heaven.
Onward Christian soldier!
Though all your comrades fell,
Raise your flag and charge your steed
Into the heart of hell.
O how the fearsome battles rage
Throughout that world on high.
But never fear, you of the Light,
For God is always nigh.
And someday all the smoke will clear.
No trumpets will be heard;
Except the King’s, which will precede
The singing of a bird.
“For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.”
J. Pecoraro
