A guerrilla band went marching by
In uniforms of gray
One hundred men with faces stern
Preparing for the fray.
One hundred men are multiplied
By a hundred thousand more
They leave a wake of broken hearts
Of bloodshed and of gore.
A smaller band stepped through the door
Of our church home one night
They had been training for their King
With faces calm and bright.
I marvel at their zeal and faith
I'm touched by their concern;
They armed themselves with God's own words
And with compassion yearn.
Marilyn Friesen
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