Whether we worship in some quiet church Far from the scream of shattering bombs and shells, Or bow our heads in some bare Quonset hut Whose shining cross its message sweetly tells— Whether at home or in some lonely place With chilling snows, or mud, or flowering sod Near battle lines, where strong and weak men kneel And, unashamed, confess their need of God— Whether we have no chance to meet apart In church or home or trench, oh, let us know It matters not the time, the place, the need, So long as we keep Easter in the heart.
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