My Faith, It Is An Oaken Staff

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

I have a Guide, and in His steps
When travellers have trod
Whether beneath was flinty rock
Or yielding grassy sod
They cared not, but with force unspent
Unmoved by pain, they onward went
Unstayed by pleasures, still they bent
Their zealous course to God

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. Composer: trad. Swiss )