Page:Flower of youth, poems in war time, Tynan, 1915.djvu/69

Rh The wings of the birds of Heaven be nigh

Lest their wings fail them and they die.

Make Thou their flying as deft and fleet

As the flight of the linnet or the blue-tit.

Thy hand over them, shall they fear

The spears of lightning or any spear?

Thy hand under them, what shall appal?

Not the fierce foe nor the sudden fall.

Show them Thy moon at night: Thy stars

Bid stand as sentinels in their wars.

Yea, make their lone tracks pleasant as

A soft meandering path in grass.

Thou that launchest the wren, the swallow

Guard our flying loves when they follow.