Classic Poem

We met, a hundred of us met,
At curfew in the field;
We talked of heav'n and Jesus Christ,
And all devoutly kneeled.
When lo! we saw, all of us saw,
The starlight sky unclose,
And heard the far-high thunders roll
Like seas where storm-wind blows.
We listened, in amazement lost,
As still as stones for dread,
And heard the war proclaimed above,
And sins of nations read.
The sound was like a solemn psalm
That holy Christians sing,
And by and by the noise was ceased
Of all the angelic ring.
Yet still beyond the cloven sky
We saw the sheet of fire;
Then came a voice, as from a throne,
To all the heav'nly choir
Which spake—‘Though many men must fall,
I will that these prevail;
To me the poor man's cause is dear.’—
Then slowly sank a scale:
The hand that poised was lost in clouds;
One shell did weighty seem,
But sceptres, scutcheons, mitres gold
Flew up and kicked the beam.