Sisera
Once more hath Israel's prayer assail'd the skies;
Once more the Lord hath heard his children's cries:
And Israel's hosts in stern battalia gleam,
On Tabor's mount, by Kishon's palmy stream.
They come, the mighty come, to rend in twain
Proud Hazor's yoke and Jabin's iron chain:
Firm in the faith that trusts the promis'd word,
What need of fear? for with them fights the Lord!
His prophet leads,—his strength shall edge the sword!
Nor wait they long; for, hark! what sound of fear
Wilder than thunder strikes th' astonish'd ear?
A thousand iron chariots shake the ground,—
The palm-trees tremble, and the rocks resound.
He comes in all his pride, lo, Sisera!
His valiant men are with him for the war,
And shouts of hosts and timbrel's clang are borne,
With the fierce tambour and the savage horn,
The clash of cymbals and the shrieking reeds,
The tramp of thousands and the rush of steeds!
Behold the prancing squadrons, hurl from far
The reedy javelin,—and the tough bows jar,
And gleams on high th' uplifted scimitar!
See the strong war-horse, glorious in his ire,
How wild his eye, how fierce his breath of fire!
His neck in thunder clothed, he mocks at fear,
The rattling quiver and the glittering spear!
The Gentile comes, all gleaming far and wide
The pompous trappings of barbaric pride;
And smiles to think how soon shall victory rest
With wings like eagles' on that haughty crest:
He trusts in strength; 'twill vanish at a word;
He trusts in chariots; might is with the Lord!
Oh, hush, vain boaster,—Azrael comes,—away,—
'Tis the death-angel leads our hosts to-day!
His mighty wings outspread, careering fast
The strong destroyer rode the hurrying blast;
Quick was the work of death; not even a sigh
Betrayed the valiant's mortal agony;
Silent the shaft of bitter dealing sped;
None mourn'd his brother,—all were with the dead!
And Sisera is with them; far he flies,
But sleep that wakes no more hath veil'd his eyes.
In vain his mother from her lattice look'd;
Her bosom's boding voice impatient brook'd,—
In fancy saw him triumph o'er the plain,
In fancy clasp'd him to her heart again,—
Took from his blood-red hand the glittering prey,—
“Oh, wherefore do his chariot wheels delay?”
Vain dream! nor prey, nor son shall she behold—
The proud, how low! that bounding heart, how cold!
Foredoom'd no warrior's happier fate to know,
A woman's hand hath dealt th' ignoble blow;—
So fall the proud, whose stay is spear and sword,—
So triumph all who trust in thee, oh Lord!
Once more the Lord hath heard his children's cries:
And Israel's hosts in stern battalia gleam,
On Tabor's mount, by Kishon's palmy stream.
They come, the mighty come, to rend in twain
Proud Hazor's yoke and Jabin's iron chain:
Firm in the faith that trusts the promis'd word,
What need of fear? for with them fights the Lord!
His prophet leads,—his strength shall edge the sword!
Nor wait they long; for, hark! what sound of fear
Wilder than thunder strikes th' astonish'd ear?
A thousand iron chariots shake the ground,—
The palm-trees tremble, and the rocks resound.
He comes in all his pride, lo, Sisera!
His valiant men are with him for the war,
And shouts of hosts and timbrel's clang are borne,
With the fierce tambour and the savage horn,
The clash of cymbals and the shrieking reeds,
The tramp of thousands and the rush of steeds!
Behold the prancing squadrons, hurl from far
The reedy javelin,—and the tough bows jar,
And gleams on high th' uplifted scimitar!
See the strong war-horse, glorious in his ire,
How wild his eye, how fierce his breath of fire!
His neck in thunder clothed, he mocks at fear,
The rattling quiver and the glittering spear!
The Gentile comes, all gleaming far and wide
The pompous trappings of barbaric pride;
And smiles to think how soon shall victory rest
With wings like eagles' on that haughty crest:
He trusts in strength; 'twill vanish at a word;
He trusts in chariots; might is with the Lord!
Oh, hush, vain boaster,—Azrael comes,—away,—
'Tis the death-angel leads our hosts to-day!
His mighty wings outspread, careering fast
The strong destroyer rode the hurrying blast;
Quick was the work of death; not even a sigh
Betrayed the valiant's mortal agony;
Silent the shaft of bitter dealing sped;
None mourn'd his brother,—all were with the dead!
And Sisera is with them; far he flies,
But sleep that wakes no more hath veil'd his eyes.
In vain his mother from her lattice look'd;
Her bosom's boding voice impatient brook'd,—
In fancy saw him triumph o'er the plain,
In fancy clasp'd him to her heart again,—
Took from his blood-red hand the glittering prey,—
“Oh, wherefore do his chariot wheels delay?”
Vain dream! nor prey, nor son shall she behold—
The proud, how low! that bounding heart, how cold!
Foredoom'd no warrior's happier fate to know,
A woman's hand hath dealt th' ignoble blow;—
So fall the proud, whose stay is spear and sword,—
So triumph all who trust in thee, oh Lord!
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