My Faith, it is an Oaken Staff  (play)

My faith, it is an oaken staff

The trav'ller's well-loved aid

My faith, it is a weapon stout

The soldier's trusty blade

I'll travel on, and still be stirred

By silent thought or social word

By all my perils undeterred

A soldier-pilgrim staid

I have a Captain, and the heart

Of every private man

Has drunk in valour from His eyes

Since first the war began

He is most merciful in fight

And of His scars a single sight

The embers of our failing might

Into a flame can fan

My faith, it is an oaken staff

O let me on it lean!

My faith, it is a trusty sword

May falsehood find it keen!

Thy spirit, Lord, to me impart

O make me what Thou ever art

Of patient and courageous heart

As all true Saints have been

( Lyricist: T.T. Lynch. Tune: trad. Swiss )