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Holy Communion.
By Harriet Annie Wilkins
We were wearied in the battle,
Tempted, and pained, and tried
By day the din and the carnage,
By night the rain's fierce tide;
But we heard a loving message,
From the Prince's tent it came,
"Each meet in the banqueting house.
In memory of my name."
We gathered; a motley regiment,
Some young in the war of life,
Some chiefs in the Royal Army,
Some old and sick with strife,
Some limped in the sacred pathway,
Some were foot sore and worn,
Some had their lances all shivered,
Some had their banners torn.
And we all looked dim and dusty;
We all were stained with sin;
But we held the Prince's message,
And the porter said "Come in."
We went to the banqueting house;
We sat at the Prince's board,
There we polished each his helmet,
We sharpened each his sword.
Our Prince--we talked of his strife,
The forlorn hope He had led,
How He opened the gates of life,
And rescued from Death the dead;
And with Him we saw a bright host,
Our comrades gone on before,
The right wing of our army
Upon the farther shore.
And the festering wound was healed.
The banners were made whole,
Mists rolled back from the almost blind,
Faith lit each warrior's soul;
We drank of the fruit of the vine,
We ate the living bread,
The holy benediction fell,
With healing on each head.
We entered in poor worn soldiers,
We came out bolder knights,
To march on to the Prince's battle,
And war for His glorious rights,
For had we not each re-taken
The oath of allegiance high,
And sworn round the Royal Standard
To conquer, or to die.
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