Dora Greenwell

Faint Yet Pursuing

     A SONG OF THE CHURCH MILITANT.

All day among the corn-fields of the plain,
Reaping a mighty harvest to the Lord,
Our hands have bound the sheaves; we come again,—
      Shout for the earners stored!

All day among the vineyards of the field,
Our feet have trodden out the red ripe vine:
Sing! sing for hearts that have not spared to yield
      A yet more purple wine!

All day against the spoilers of our land,
Our arms made bare the keen and glittering sword;
None turnèd back, none stayed the lifted hand,—
      Sing! sing unto the Lord!

All day beset by spies, begirt with foes
Building a house of holiness; by night
We watched beside our weapons; slow it rose,—
      Sing! sing from Zion's height!