Our Last Grand Camping Ground

By Henry Clay Work

On a pebly shore, where forevermore
Gently creeps a music laden wave —
In the meadows green, which beyond are seen,
Camps a conq’ring army, true and brave.
Shining are the weapons of this martial throng —
Crimson died their banner, battleworn so long;
But now they cast them down, and each receives a crown,
Whey they chant their never ending song:

“Our Saviour and our King!
His victories shall ring!
His conquests thro’ eternity shall sound!
(And war shall be no)
War (more) shall be no more —
we have reach’d the shore —
Safely reach’d our last grand camping ground.”

While thro’ lovely dells, grander music swells —
Richer chords from rarer harps of gold —
List that soft refrain, that sweet vocal strain,
Wherein now the victors’ deeds are told:
How they toil’d in darkness, battling the wrong —
How, in hours of weakness, Jesus made them strong.
Acknowledg’d as his own he seats them on his throne,
While they join the never ending song.

Pop-Up Poetry Trivia !!!

Browse Our Collections By Category

Select from our entire catalogue of poetry collections: