Classic Poem

Here Cromwell stood, that dark and frowning night,
Hemm'd in upon this desperate tongue of land,
The sea behind, the sea on either hand,
And, fronting him, the foe on yonder height
What chance for Cromwell in to-morrow's fight,
If thus the order of the battle stand!
He was but captain, the supreme command
He knew was His who, to the most lorn right,
Oft gives mysterious victory. And so,
Arm'd with this faith, of fear he never dream'd.
For ever with that man a Power there seem'd,
That conquer'd first the judgment of his foe,
Then gave an easy field. So would it be
With all who own'd as deep a trust as he.