1 Creation's Lord, we give Thee thanks
That this Thy world is incomplete;
That battle calls our marshalled ranks,
That work awaits our hands and feet;

2 That Thou hast not yet finished man,
That we are in the making still
As friends who share the Maker's plan,
As sons who know the Father's will.

3 Beyond the present sin and shame,
Wrong's bitter, cruel, scorching blight,
We see the beckoning vision flame,
The blessed Kingdom of the Right.

4 What though the Kingdom long delay,
And still with haughty foes must cope?
It gives us that for which to pray,
A field for toil and faith and hope.

5 Since what we choose is what we are,
And what we love we yet shall be,
The goal may ever shine afar,
The will to win it makes us free.