O, It is hard to work for God, To rise and take his part Upon this battle-field of earth, And not sometimes lose heart! He hides himself so wondrously, As though there were no God; He is least seen when all the powers Of ill are most abroad. Or he deserts us at the hour The fight is all but lost; And seems to leave us to ourselves Just when we need him most. Ill masters good, good seems to change To ill with greater ease; And, worst of all, the good with good Is at cross-purposes. Ah! God is other than we think; His ways are far above, Far beyond reason’s height, and reached Only by childlike love. Workman of God! O, lose not heart, But learn what God is like; And in the darkest battle-field Thou shalt know where to strike. Thrice blest is he to whom is given The instinct that can tell That God is on the field when he Is most invisible. Blest, is he who can divine Where the real right doth lie, And dares to take the side that seems Wrong to man’s blindfold eye. For right is right, since God is God; And right the day must win; To doubt would be disloyalty, To falter would be sin!
The Right Must Win
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