Ein Feste Burg ist Unser Gott - (Luthers Hymn)

We wait beneath the furnace-blast     The pangs of transformation;     Not painlessly doth God recast     And mould anew the nation.     Hot burns the fire     Where wrongs expire;     Nor spares the hand     That from the land     Uproots the ancient evil.     The hand-breadth cloud the sages feared     Its bloody rain is dropping;     The poison plant the fathers spared     All else is overtopping.     East, West, South, North,     It curses the earth;     All justice dies,     And fraud and lies     Live only in its shadow.     What gives the wheat-field blades of steel?     What points the rebel cannon?     What sets the roaring rabbles heel     On the old star-spangled pennon?     What breaks the oath     Of the men o the South?     What whets the knife     For the Unions life?     Hark to the answer: Slavery!     Then waste no blows on lesser foes     In strife unworthy freemen.     God lifts to-day the veil, and shows     The features of the demon     O North and South,     Its victims both,     Can ye not cry,     Let slavery die!     And union find in freedom?     What though the cast-out spirit tear     The nation in his going?     We who have shared the guilt must share     The pang of his oerthrowing!     Whateer the loss,     Whateer the cross,     Shall they complain     Of present pain     Who trust in Gods hereafter?     For who that leans on His right arm     Was ever yet forsaken?     What righteous cause can suffer harm     If He its part has taken?     Though wild and loud,     And dark the cloud,     Behind its folds     His hand upholds     The calm sky of to-morrow!     Above the maddening cry for blood,     Above the wild war-drumming,     Let Freedoms voice be heard, with good     The evil overcoming.     Give prayer and purse     To stay the Curse     Whose wrong we share,     Whose shame we bear,     Whose end shall gladden Heaven!     In vain the bells of war shall ring     Of triumphs and revenges,     While still is spared the evil thing     That severs and estranges.     But blest the ear     That yet shall hear     The jubilant bell     That rings the knell     Of Slavery forever!     Then let the selfish lip be dumb,     And hushed the breath of sighing;     Before the joy of peace must come     The pains of purifying.     God give us grace     Each in his place     To bear his lot,     And, murmuring not,     Endure and wait and labor!