The Watchword

‘Trust in the Lord, and keep your powder try!’
     So cried stout OLIVER in the storm, before
     That redder rain on bloody Marston Moor,
Which whelmed the flower of English chivalry
Repeat the watchword when the sullen sky
     Stoops with its weight of terror, while the roar
     Of the far thunder deepens, and no more 
God’s gracious sunshine greets the lifted eye!
Not Faith alone, but Faith with Action armed,
     Shall win the battle, when the anointed host
Wars with the alien armies, and, unharmed
     Snatch victory from a field where all seemed lost
Front Death and Danger with a level eye;
Trust in the Lord, and keep your powder dry!