Slain in their high places: fallen on rest Where the eternal peace lights up their faces, In God's sacred acre breast to breast: ''" Slain in their high places. From all tribes, all families, all races, Gathered home together; east or west Sending home its tale of gifts and graces. Twine, oh twine, heaven's amaranth for their crest, Raise their praise while home their triumph paces; Kings by their own King of kings confessed, Slain in their high places. |